THE 


YEMASSEE: 


ROMANCE    OF    CAROLINA 


BY  W.  GILMORE  SIMMS, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  PARTISAN,"   "GUY  RIVERS,"   "MARTIN  FABER, 
"RICHARD  HURDIS,"  "BORDER  BEAGLES,"  ETC. 


and  JRd>i0ed  CMfion, 


CHICAGO: 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  CO, 

407-425  DEARBORN  STREET 
2890 


V  7 


G£N£fiAL 


BONOHUE  &  HENNEBERRY, 

PRINTERS  AND  BINDERS, 

CHICAGO. 


P5 
Y5 


OF 

-ALIFORH^ 


THE    YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

*•  A  •eatter'd  race — a  wild,  nnfetter'd  tnh«, 
That  in  the  forests  dwell — that  tend  no  ship* 
For  commerce  on  the  waters — rear  no  walls 
To  shelter  from  the  storm,  or  shield  from  strife  ,•— 
And  leave  behind,  m  memory  of  their  name, 
No  monument,  save  in  the  dim,  deep  woods, 
That  daily  perish  as  their  lords  have  done  -^ 
Beneath  the  keen  stroke  of  the  pioneer     -/ 
Let  us  look  back  upon  their  forest  homes, 
As   in  that  earlier  time,  when  first  their  foet,  — 
The  pale-faced,  from  the  distant  nations  came, 
They  dotted  the  green  banks  of  winding  streams." 

THE  district  of  Beaufort,  lying  along  the  Atlantic  coast  in  the 
State  of  South  Carolina,  is  especially  commended  to  the  regards 
of  the  antiquarian  as  the  region  first  distinguished  in  the  history 
of  the  United  States  by  an  European  settlement.*  Here  a  colony 
of  French  Huguenots  was  established  in  15G2,  under  the  auspices 

*  We  are  speaking  now  of  authentic  history  only.  We  are  not  ignorant 
of  the  claim  urged  on  behalf  of  the  Northmen  to  discovery  along  the  very 
same  region,  and  to  their  assertion  of  the  existence  here  of  a  white  people, 
fully  five  hundred  years  before  this  period ; — an  assertion  which  brings 
us  back  to  the  tradition  of  Madoc  and  his  Welshmen ;  the  report  of  the 
Northmen  adding  further,  that  the  language  spoken  was  cognate  with  that 
of  the  Irish,  with  which  they  were  familiar.  For  this  curious  history,  se« 
tLe  recently  published  A.ntiquitates  Americano^  under  the  editorship  of 
Professor  Rafn,  of  Copenhagen. 

1* 


10  THE    YEMASSEE. 

of  the  celebrated  Gaspard  de  Coligni,  admiral  of  France,  who,  in 
tho  reign  of  Charles  IX.,  conceived  the  necessity  of  such  a  scttle- 
irriit,  with  the  hope  of  securing  a  sanctuary  for  French  protest- 
ants,  when  they  should  be  compelled,  as  he  foresaw  they  soon 
\vould,  by  tho  anti-religious  persecutions  of  the  time,  to  fly  from 
their  native  into  foreign  regions.  This  settlement,  however,  proved 
unsuccessful ;  and  the  events  which  history  records  of  the  sub 
sequent  efforts  of  the  French  to  establish  colonies  in  the  same 
neighbourhood,  while  of  unquestionable  authority,  have  all  the 
charm  of  the  most  delightful  romance. 

It  was  not  till  an  hundred  years  after,  that  the  same  spot  was 
temporarily  settled  by  the  English  under  Sayle,  who  became  the 
first  governor,  as  he  was  the  first  permanent  founder  of  the  settle 
ment.  T-he- situation  was  exposed,  however,  to  the  incursions  of 
the  Spaniards,  who,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  possessed  themselves 
of  Florida,  and  for  a  long  time  after  continued  to  harass  and  pre 
vent  colonization  in  this  quarter.  But  perseverance  at  length 
triunphed  over  all  these  difficulties,  and  though  Sayle,  for  further 
security,  in  the  infancy  of  his  settlement,  had  removed  to  the 
banks  of  the  Ashley,  other  adventurers,  by  little  and  little,  con 
trived  to  occupy  the  gromid  he  had  left,  and  in  the  year  1700,  the 
hiith  of  a  white  native  child  is  recorded. 

From  the  earliest  period  of  our  acquaintance  with  the  country 
of  which  we  speak,  it  was  in  the  possession  of  a  powerful  and  gal- 
la.nJLj-ace.  and  their  tributary  tribes,  known  by  the  general  name 
of  Yemassees.  Not  so  numerous,  perhaps;  as  many  of  the  neigh 
bouring  nations,  they  nevertheless  commanded  the  respectful  con 
sideration  of  all.  In  valour  they  made  up  for  any  deficiencies  of 
number,  and  proved  themselves  not  only  sufficiently  strong,  to  hold 
out  defiance  to  invasion,  but  were  always  ready  to  anticipate 
assault.  Their  promptness  and  valour  in  the  field  furnished  their 
best  securities  against  attack,  while  their  forward  courage,  elastic 
tamper,  and  excellent  skill  in  the  rude  condition  of  their  warfare, 
enabled  them  to  subject  to  their  dominion  most  of  the  tribes 
around  them,  many  of  which  were  equally  numerous  with  their 
own.  Like  the  Romans,  in  this  way  thsy  strengthened  their  own 

~ 


THE    YEMASSEE.  11 

powers  by  a  wise  incorporation  of  the  conquered  with  the  con 
•juorors;  and  under  the  several  names  of  Huspahs,  Coosaws,  Corn- 
bahees,  Stonoees,  and  Sewees,  the  greater  strength  of  the  Yemassces 
contrived  to  command  so  many  dependants,  prompted  by  their 
movements,  and  almost  entirely  under  their  dictation.  Thin? 
strengthened,  the  recognition  of  their  power  extended  into  the 
remote  interior,  and  they  formed  one  of  the  twenty-eight  aboriginal 
nations  among  which,  at  its  first  settlement  by  the  English,  the 
province  of  Carolina  was  divided. 

A  feeble  colony  of  adventurers  from  a  distant  world  had  taken "j 
up  its  abode  alongside  of  them.  The  weaknesses  of  the  intruder 
were,  at  first,  his  only  but  sufficient  protection  with  the  unsophisti 
cated  savage.  The  white  man  had  his  lands  assigned  him,  and  he 
trenched  his  furrows  to  receive  the  grain  on  the  banks  of  Indian 
waters.  The  wild  man  looked  on  the  humiliating  labour,  wonderind 
as  he  did  so,  but  without  fear,  and  never  dreaming  for  a  moment! 
of  his  own  approaching  subjection.  Meanwhile,  the  adventurers 
grew  daily  more  numerous,  for  their  friends  and  relatives  soon 
followed  them  across  the  ocean.  They,  too,  had  lands  assigned 
them  in  turn,  by  the  improvident  savage ;  and  increasing  intima 
cies,  with  uninterrupted  security,  day  by  day,  won  the  former  still 
more  deeply  into  the  bosom  of  the  forests,  and  more  immediately 
in  connexion  with  their  wild  possessors  ;  until,  at  length,  we  behold 
the  log-house  of  'the  white  man,  rising  up  amid  the  thinned  clurnp 
of  woodland  foliage,  within  hailing  distance  of  the  squat,  clay 
hovel  of  the  savage.  Sometimes  their  smokes  even  united  ;  and 
now  and  then  the  two,  the  "  European  and  his  dusky  guide,"  might 
be  seen,  pursuing,  side  by  side  and  with  the  same  dog,  upon  the 
cold  track  of  the  affrighted  deer  or  the  yet  more  timorous  turkey. 

Let  us  go  back  an  hundred  years,  and  more  vividly  recall  this 
picture.  In  1715,  the  Yemassees  were  in  all  their  glory.  They 
were  politic  and  brave — a  generous  and  gallant  race.  The  whites 
had  been  welcomed  at  their  first  coming  to  their  woods,  and  hosp-*^" 
tably  entertained  ;  and  gradually  lost  all  their  apprehensions,  from 
the  gentleness  and  forbearance  of  the  red  men.  The  confidence  of 
the  whites  grew  with  the  immunities  they  enjoyed,  and  in  procesa 


12  THE     YEMASSEE. 

of  time  they  came  to  regard  their  hosts  in  the  character  of  allie? 
and  to  employ  them  as  auxiliaries.  In  this  character,  never  su? 
peering  their  danger  from  the  uses  to  which  they  were  put,  an<l 
gladly  obeying  a  passion  to  the  exclusion  of  a  policy,  the  Yo- 
massees  had  taken  up  arms  with  the  Carolinians  against  the  Span 
iards,  who,  from  St.  Augustine,  perpetually  harassed  the  settle 
ments.  Until  this  period  the  Yemassees  had  never  been  troubled 
Jf>y  that  worst  tyranny  of  all,  the  consciousness  of  their  inferiority 
to  a  power  of  which  they,  at  length,  grew  jealous.  Lord  Craven, 
the  governor  and  palatine  of  Carolina,  had  done  much,  in  a  little 
time,  by  the  success  of  his  arms  over  the  neighbouring  tribes,  and 
the  admirable  policy  which  distinguished  his  government,  to 
impress  this  feeling  of  suspicion  upon  the  minds  of  the  Yemassees. 
Their  aid,  finally,  had  ceased  to  be  necessary  to  the  Carolinians. 
They  were  no  longer  sought  or  solicited.  The  presents  became 
fewer,  the  borderers  grew  bolder  and  more  incursive,  and  new  ter 
ritory,  daily  acquired  by  the  colonists  in  some  way  or  other,  drove 
them  back  for  hunting-grounds  upon  the  upper  waters  of  tho 
Edistoh  and  Isundiga.*  Their  chiefs  began  to  show  signs  of  dis 
content,  if  not  of  disaffection,  and  the  great  mass  of  their  people 
assumed  a  sullenness  of  habit  and  demeanour,  which  had  never 
marked  their  conduct  before.  They  looked,  with  a  feeling  of 
aversion  which  they  yet  strove  to  conceal,  upon  the  approach 
of  the  white  man  on  every  side.  The  thick  groves  disappeared, 
the  clear  skies  grew  turbid  with  the  dense  smokes  rolling  up  in 
solid  masses  from  the  burning  herbage.  Hamlets  grew  into  exist 
ence,  as  it  were  by  magic,  under  their  very  eyes  and  in  sight  of 
their  own  towns,  for  the  shelter  of  a  different  people;  and  at 
length,  a  common  sentiment,  not  yet  embodied  perhaps  by  its 
open  expression,  even  among  themselves,  prompted  the  Yemassees 

I  in  a  desire  to  arrest  the  progress  of  a  race  with  which  they  could 
never  hope  to  acquire  any  real  or  lasting  affinity  Another  and  a 
stronger  ground  for  jcaVis  ditlike  arose  necessarily  in  their  minds 

*  Such  is  the  beav'rt'      7.<ini«  by  which  the  Yemassee*  knew 
nah  river 


THE    YEMASSEE.  13 

with  the  gradual  approach  of  that  consciousness  of  their  inferiority 
which,  while  the  colony  was  dependent  and  weak,  they  had  not  so 
readily  perceived.  But,  when  they  saw  with  what  facility  the 
new  comers  could  convert  even  the  elements,  not  less  than  them 
selves,  into  slaves  and  agents,  under  the  guidance  of  the  strong  y 
will  and  the  overseeing  judgment,  the  gloom  of  their  habit  swelled 
into  ferocity,  and  their  rninds  were  busied  with  those  subtle 
schemes  and  stratagems  with  which,  in  his  nakedness,  the  savage 
usually  seeks  to  neutralize  the  superiority  of  European  armour. 

The  Carolinians  were  now  in  possession  of  the  entire  sea-coast, 
with  a  trifling  exception,  which  forms  the  Atlantic  boundary  of 
Beaufort  and  Charleston  districts.  They  had  but  few,  and  those 
small  and  scattered,  interior  settlements.  A  few  miles  from  the 
seashore,  and  the  Indian  lands  generally  girdled  them  in,  still  in 
the  possession  as  in  the  right  of  the  aborigines.  But  few  treaties 
mid  yet  been  effected  for  the  purchase  of  territory  fairly  -out  of 
sight  of  the  sea;  those  tracts  only  excepted  which  formed  the 
borders  of  such  rivers^  as,  emptying  into  the  ocean  and  navigable 
to  small  vessels,  afforded  a  ready  chance  of  escape  to  the  coast  in 
the  event  of  any  sudden  .necessity.  In  this  way,  the  whites  had 
settled  along  the  banks  of  the  Keawa,  the  Etiwan,the  Combahee, 
the  Coosaw,  the  Pocota-ligo,  and  other  contiguous  rivers  ;  dwelling 
generally  in  small  communities  of  five,  seven,  or  ten  families ; 
seldom  of  more,  and  these  taking  care  that  the  distance  should  be 
slight  between  them.  Sometimes,  indeed,  an  individual  adven-""! 
turer  more  fearless  than  the  rest,  drove  his  stakes,  and  took  up  his 
abode  alone,  or  with  a  single  family,  in  some  boundless  contiguity 
of  shade,  several  miles  from  his  own  people,  and  over  against  his 
roving  neighbour ;  pursuing,  in  many  cases,  the  same  errant  life, 
adopting  many  of  his  savage  habits,  and  this,  too,  without  risking) 
much,  if  any  thing,  in  the  general  opinion.  For  a  long  season,  so 
pacific  had  been  the  temper  of  the  Yemassees  towards  the  Caroli 
nians,  that  the  latter  had  finally  become  regardless  of  that  neces 
sary  caution  which  bolts  a  door  and  keeps  a  watch-dog. 

On  the  waters  of  the  Pocota-ligo,*  or  Little  Wood  river,  this  was 

•The  Indian  pronunciation  of  their  proper  names  is  eminently  musical ; 


14  THE    YEMASSEE. 

more  particularly  the  habit  of  the  settlement.  This  is  a  small 
stream,  about  twenty-five  miles  long,  which  empties  itself  into,  and 
forms  one  of  the  tributaries  of,  that  singular  estuary  called  Broad 
river;  and  thus,  in  common  with  a  dozen  other  streams  of  similar 
size,  contributes  to  the  formation  of  the  beautiful  harbour  of  Beau 
fort,  which,  with  a  happy  propriety,  the  French  denominated  Port 
Royal.  Leaving  the  yet  small  but  improving  village  of  the  Caro 
linians  at  Beaufort,  we  ascend  the  Pocota-ligo,  and  still,  at  inter 
vals,  their  dwellings  present  themselves  to  our  eye  occasionally  on 
one  side  or  the  other.  The  banks,  generally  edged  with  swamp, 
and  fringed  with  its  dark  peculiar  growth,  possess  few  attractions, 
and  the  occasional  cottage  serves  greatly  to  relieve  ;i  picture,  want 
ing  certainly,  not  less  in  moral  association  than  in  the  charm  of 
landscape.  At  one  spot  we  encounter  the  rude,  clumsy  edifice, 
usually  styled  the  Block  House,  built  for  temporary  defence,  and 
here  and  there  holding  its  garrison  of  five,  seven,  or  ten  men,  sel 
dom  of  more,  maintained  simply  as  posts,  not  so  much  with  the 
view  to  war  as  of  warning.  In  its  neighbourhood  we  see  a  cluster 
of  log  dwellings,  three  or  four  in  number,  the  clearings  in  progress, 
the  piled  timber  smoking  or  in  flame,  and  the  stillness  only  broken 
by  the  dull,  heavy  echo  of  the  axe,  biting  into  the  trunk  of  the 
tough  and  long-resisting  pine.  On  the  banks  the  woodman  draws 
up  his  "  dug-out"  or  canoe — a  single  cypress,  hollowed  out  by  fire 
nd  the  stone  hatchet; — around  the  fields  the  negro  piles  slowly 
e  worming  and  ungraceful  fence ;  while  the  white  boy  gathers 
fuel  for  the  pot  over  which  his  mother  is  bending  in  the  prepara 
tion  of  their  frugal  meal.  A  turn  in  the  river  unfolds  to  our  sight 
a  cottage,  standing  by  itself,  half  finished,  and  probably  deserted  by 
its  capricious  owner.  Opposite,  on  the  other  bank  of  the  river,  an 
[ndian  dries  his  bearskin  in  the  sun,  while  his  infant,  wrapped  in 
another,  and  lashed  down  upon  a  board, — for  security,  not  for 
symmetry — hangs  rocking  from  the  tree,  beneath  which  his  mo 
ther  gathers  up  the  earth  with  a  wooden  shovel,  about  the  young 

we  usually  spoil  them.  This  name  w  preserved  in  Carolina,  but  it  wanta 
the  euphony  and  force  which  the  Indian  tongue  gave  it.  We  pronounce  it 
usually  in  common  quantity.  The  reader  will  lay  the  emphasis  upon  the 
penultimate,  giving  to  th«  t  th«  sound  of  f 


THE    YEMASSEE.  15 

roots  of  the  tender  corn.  As  we  proceed,  the  traces  of  the  Indians 
thicken.  Now  a  cot,  and  now  a  hamlet,  grows  up  before  the  sight, 
until,  at  the  very  head  of  the  river,  we  come  to  the  great  place  of 
council  and  most  ancient  town  of  the  Yemassees — the  town  of 
Pocota-ligo.* 

*  It  may  be  well  to  say  that  the  Pocota-ligo  river,  as  here  described, 
would  not  readily  be  recognised  in  that  stream  at  present  The  swamps 
are  now  reclaimed,  plantations  and  firm  dwellings  take  the  place  of  the 
ancient  groves;  and  the  bald  and  occasional  tree  only  tells  us  where  the 
forests  have  been.  The  bed  of  the  river  has  been  narrowed  by  numerous 
encroachments ;  and,  though  still  navigable  for  sloop  and  schooner,  its  fair 
proportions  have  become  greatly  contracted  in  the  silent  but  succeeafuJ 
operation  of  the  last  hundred  years  upon  it 


CHAPTER   It 

u  Not  m  their  usual  tnm  was  he  arrayed, 

The  painted  savage  with  a  shaven  head, 

And  feature,  tortured  up  by  forest  skill, 
>»To  represent  each  noxious  form  of  ill — 

And  seem  the  tiger's  tooth,  the  vulture's  ravening  bifl.' 

THE  "great  town"  of  Pocota-ligo,  as  it  was  called  by  the  Yeinas- 
sees,  was  ttia  largest  in  their  occupation.  Its  pretensions  were  few, 
however,  beyond  its  population,  to  rank  under  that  title.  It  was  a 
simple  collection  of  scattered  villages,  united  in  process  of  time  by 
the  coalition  with  new  tribes  and  the  natural  progress  of  increase 
among  them.  They  had  other  large  towns,  however,  not  the  least 
among  which  was  that  of  Coosaw-hatchie,  or  the  "  Refuge  of  the 
Coosaws,"  a  town  established  by  the  few  of  that  people  who  had 
survived  the  overthrow  of  their  nation  in  a  previous  war  with  the 
Carolinians.  The  "  city  of  refuge"  was  a  safe  sanctuary,  known 
%mong  the  greater  number  of  our  forest  tribes,  and  not  less 
^respected  with  them  than  the  same  institutions  among  the  Hebrews.* 
The  refuge  of  the  Coosaws,  therefore,  became  recognised  as  such 
by  all  the  Indians,  and  ranked,  though  of  inferior  size  and  popula 
tion,  in  no  respect  below  the  town  of  Pocota-ligo.  Within  its 
limits — that  is  to  say,  within  the  cordon  of  pines  which  were 
blazed  to  mark  its  boundaries,  the  criminal,  whatever  his  evil 
deed,  found  certain  security.  Here  he  was  sacred.  The  spot  V:.T, 
tabooed  to  the  pursuer  and  the  avenger.  The  furies  hr,  to 

*  This  peculiar  institution  among  the  red  men,  arid  which ->eenis  to  have 
existed  among  all  the  tribes,  however  uulike  in  other  resppts,  constitutes 
,one  of  the  arguments  among  those  who  insist  upon  ^W  aborigines  as 
sprung  from  the  Israelites,  and  who  seek  to  find  among  theft  the  remnants  01 
the  Lost  Tribes.  Adair  has  devoted  a  large  portion  jff  his  otherwise 
admirable  collection  of  notes  to  this  wild  illusion,  to  ^sustain  which,  h« 
•hows  himself  perversely  ingenious  ir  his  misuse  of  history  and  reason. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  17 

remain  without.  The  murderer  was  safe  so  long  as  he  kept  within 
the  marked  circuit.  But  he  might  never  venture  forth  with  hope  to 
elude  his  enemy.  The  vengeance  of  the  red  man  never  sleeps,  and 
is  never  satisfied  while  there  is  still  a  victim. 

The  gray  soft  tints  of  an  April  dawn  had  scarcely  yet  begun  to 
lighten  in  the  dim  horizon,  when  the  low  door  of  an  Indian  lodge 
that  lay  almost  entirely  embowered  in  a  forest  thicket,  less  than  a 
mile  from  Pocota-ligo,  might  be  seen  to  open,  and  a  tall  warrior 
to  emerge  slowly  and  in  silence  from  its  shelter.  He  was  followed 
by  a  dog,  somewhat  handsomer  than  those  which  usually  claim- 
the  red  man  for  a  master.  In  his  gaunt  figure,  the  beast  was  some 
thing  of  a  hound  ;  but  he  differed  from  this  animal  in  his  ears,  and 
in  the  possession  of  a  head  exceedingly  short  and  compact.  He 
was  probably  the  cross  of  a  cur  upon  the  beagle.  But  he  was 
none  the  less  serviceable  to  his  present  owner.  The  warrior  was 
armed  after  the  Indian  fashion.  The  long  straight  bow,  with  a 
bunch  of  arrows,  probably  a  dozen  in  number,  suspended  by  a 
thong  of  deerskin,  hung  loosely  upon  his  shoulders.  His  hatchet 
or  tomahawk,  the  light  weapon,  a  substitute  for  the  stone  hatchet, 
introduced  by  the  colonists,  was  slightly  secured  to  his  waist  by  a 
girdle  of  the  same  material.  His  dress,  which  fitted  tightly  to  his  I 
person,  indicated  a  frequent  intercourse  with  the  whites ;  since  it  ' 
had  been  adapted  to  the  shape  of  the  wearer,  instead  of  being 
worn  loosely  as  the  bearskin  of  preceding  ages.  Such  an  alteration 
in  the  national  costume  was  found  to  accord  more  readily  with  the 
pursuits  of  the  savage  than  the  flowing  garments  which  he  had 
worn  before.  Until  this  improvement,  he  had  been  compelled,  in 
battle  or  the  chase,  to  throw  aside  the  cumbrous  covering  which 
neutralized  his  swiftness,  and  to  exhibit  himself  in  that  state  of 
perfect  nudily,  which  was  scarcely  less  offensive  to  the  Indians  than 
to  more  civilized  communities.  The  warrior  before  us  had  been 
among  the  first  to  avail  himself  of  the  arts  of  the  whites  in 
the  improvement  of  the  costume ;  nay,  he  had  taken  other  lessons,  ;( 
of  even  greater  value,  from  the  superior  race.  But  of  these  here-  -^ 
after.  He  wore  a  sort  of  pantaloons,  the  seams  of  which  had  been 
permanently  secured  with  strings, — unsewed,  but  tied.  They  were 
made  of  tanned  buckskin  of  the  brightest  yellow,  and  of  as  tight 


18  THE    YEMASSEE. 

a  fit  as  the  most  punctilious  dandy  in  modern  times  would  insist 
upon.  An  upper  garment,  also  of  buckskin,  made  with  more 
regard  to  freedom  of  limb,  and  called  by  the  whites  a  hunting- 
shirt,  completed  the  dress.  Sometimes,  such  was  its  make,  the 
wearer  threw  it  as  a  sort  of  robe  loosely  across  his  shoulders; 
secured  thus  with  the  broad  belt,  either  of  woollen  cloth  or  of  the 
same  material,  which  usually  accompanied  the  garment.  In  the 
instance  of  which  we  speak,  it  sat  upon  the  wearer  pretty  much 
after  the  manner  of  a  modern  gentleman's  frock.  Buskins,  or  as 
named  among  them,  mocasins,  also  of  the  skin  of  the  deer,  tanned, 
or  in  its  natural  state,  according  to  caprice  or  emergency,  enclosed 
his  feet  tightly  ;  and  without  any  other  garment,  and  entirely  free 
from  the  profusion  of  gaudy  ornaments  so  common  to  the  Indiana 
in  modern  times,  and  of  which  they  seem  so  extravagantly 
fond,  the  habit  of  our  new  acquaintance  may  be  held  complete. 
Ornament,  indeed,  of  any  description,  would  certainly  have  done 
little,  if  anything,  towards  the  improvement,  in  appearance,  of  the 
individual  before  us.  His  symmetrical  person — majestic  port — 
(keen,  falcon  eye — calm,  stern,  deliberate  expression,  and  elevated 
mead — would  have  been  enfeebled,  rather  than  improved  by  the 
[addition  of  beads  and  gauds, — the  tinsel  and  glitter  so  common  to 
'the  savage  now.  His  form  was  large  and  justly  proportioned. 
Stirring  event  and  trying  exercise  had  given  it  a  confident,  free,  and 
manly  carriage,  which  the  air  of  decision  about  his  eye  and  mouth 
admirably  tallied  with  and  supported.  He  might  have  been  about 
fifty  years  of  age ;  certainly  he  could  not  have  been  less  ;  though 
we  arrive  at  this  conclusion  rather  from  the  strong,  acute,  and 
sagacious  expression  of  his  features  than  from  any  mark  of  feeble 
ness  or  age.  Unlike  the  Yemassees  generally,  who  seem  to  have 
been  of  an  elastic  and  frank  temper,  the  chief — for  he  is  such — 
whom  we  describe,  seemed  one,  likgj^assiu^-  who  had  learned  to 
despise  all  the  light  employs  of  life,  and  now  only  lived  in  the  con 
stant  meditation  of  deep  scheme  arid  subtle  adventure.  He  moved 
and  looked  as  one  with  a  mind  filled  to  overflowing  with  restless 
thought,  whose  spirit,  crowded  with  impetuous  feelings,  kept  up 
constant  warfare  with  the  more  deliberate  and  controlling  reason. 
llius  appearing,  and  followed  closely  by  his  dog,  advancing  from 


THE    YEMASSEE.  19 

tbe  shelter  of  his  wigwam,  lie  drew  tightly  the  belt  about  his  waist, 
and  feeling  carefully  the  string  of  his  bow,  as  if  to  satisfy  himself 
that  it  was  imfrayed  and  could  be  depended  upon,  prepared  to  go 
forth  into  the  forest.  IJe  had  proceeded  but  a  little  distance,  how 
ever,  when,  as  if  suddenly  recollecting  something  he  had  forgotten, 
he  returned  hurriedly  to  the  dwelling,  and  tapping  lightly  upon  the 
door  which  had  been  closed  upon  his  departure,  spoke  as  follows  to 
some  one  within  : — 

"  The  knife,  Matiwan,  the  knife." 

He  was  answered  in  a  moment  by  a  female  voice ;  the  speaker, 
an  instant  after,  unclosing  the  door  and  handing  him  the  instrument 
he  required — the  long  knife,  something  like  the  modern  case-knife, 
which,  introduced  by  the  whites,  had  been  at  once  adopted  by  the 
Indians,  as  of  all  other  things  that  most  necessary  to  the  various 
wants  of  the  hunter.  Protected,  usually,  as  in  the  present  instance, 
by  a  leathern  sheath,  it  seldom  or  never  left  the  person  of  its  owner. 
It  was  somewhat  singular,  indeed,  that  an  Indian  warrior  and  hunter 
should  have  forgotten  so,  important  an  implement,  but  the  fact  will 
better  illustrate  the  vexed  and  disquieted  nature  of  the  chief's  mind, 
which  was  greatly  troubled  from  peculiar  causes,  than  any  act  or 
omission  besides.  The  chief  received  the  knife,  and  placed  it  along 
with  the  tomahawk  in  the  belt  around  his  waist.  He  was  about  to 
turn  away,  when  the  woman,  but  a  glimpse  of  whose  dusky  but 
gentle  features  and  dark  eyes  appeared  through  the  half-closed 
door,  addressed  him  in  a  sentence  of  inquiry,  in  her  own  language, 
unly  remarkable  for  the  deep  respectfulness  of  its  tone. 

"Sanutee, — the  chief — will  he  not  come  back  with  the  night?" 

"•  He  will  come,  Matiwan — lie  will  come.  But  the  lodge  of  the 
tvhite  man  is  in  the  old  house  of  the  deer,  and  the  swift-foot  steals 
^ff  from  the  clear  water  where  he  once  used  to  drink.  The  white 
man  grinds  his  corn  with  the  waters,  and  the  deer  is  afraid  of  the 
noise.  Sanutee  will  hunt  for  him  in  the  far  swamps — and  the  nigh 
will  be  dark  before  he  comes  back  to  Matiwan." 

"  Sanutee — chief,"  she  again  spoke  in  a  faltering  accent,  as  if  to 
prepare  the  way  for  something  else,  of  the  success  of  which,  in  his 
ears,  she  seemed  more  doubtful ;  but  she  paused  without  finishing 
the  sentence. 


20  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Sanutee  has  ears,  Matiwan — ears  always  for  Matiwan,"  was  the 
encouraging  response,  in  a  manner  and  tone  well  calculated  to 
confirm  the  confidence  which  the  language  was  intended  to  inspire. 
Half  faltering  still,  however,  she  proceeded  : — 

"  The  boy,  Sanutee — the  boy,  Occonestoga — 

He  interrupted  her,  almost  fiercely. 

"  Occonestoga  is  a  dog,  Matiwan ;  he  hunts  the  slaves  of  the. 
English  in  the  swamps  for  strong  drink.  He  is  a  slavejilmself — 
he  has  ears  for  their  lies — he  believes  in  their  forked  tongues,  and 
he  has  two  voices  for  his  own  people.  Let  him  not  look  into  the 
lodge  of  Sanutee.  Is  not  Sanutee  the  chief  of  the  Yemassee  ?" 

"Sanutee  is  the  great  chief.  But  Occonestoga  is  the  son  of 
Sanutee—" 

"  Sanutee  has  no  son — " 

"  But  Matiwan,  Sanutee — " 

"  Matiwan  is  the  woman  who  has  lain  in  the  bosom  of  Sanutee ; 
she  has  dressed  the  venison  for  Sanutee  when  the  great  chiefs  of 
the  Cherokee  sat  at  his  board.  Sanutee  hides  it  not  under  hit 
tongue.  The  Yemassees  speak  for  Matiwan — she  is  the  wife  of 
Sanutee." 

"  And  mother  of  Occonestoga,"  exclaimed  the  woman  hurriedly. 

"  No !  Matiwan  must  not  be  the  mother  to  a  dog.  Occonestoga 
goes  with  the  English  to  bite  the  heels  of  the  Yemassee." 

"  Is  not  Ooconestoga  a  chief  of  Yemassee  ?"  asked  the  woman. 

"Ha!  look,  Matiwan — the  great  Manneyto  has  bad  spirits  that 
hate  him.  They  go  forth  and  they  fear  him,  but  they  hate  him.  Is 
not  Opitchi-Manneyto*  a  bad  spirit  ?" 

"  Sanutee  says." 

"  But  Opitchi-Manneyto  works  for  the  good  spirit.  He  works, 
but  his  heart  is  bad — he  loves  not  the  work,  but  he  fears  the 
thunder.  Occonestoga  is  the  bad  servant  of  Yemassee :  he  shall 
hear  the  thunder,  and  the  lightning  shall  flash  in  his  path.  Go, 
Matiwan,  thou  art  not  the  mother  of  a  dog.  Go  I — Sanutee  will 
come  back  with  the  night." 

The  eye  of  the  v-ornan  was  suffused  and  full  of  appeal,  as  the 

•  The  Yemassee  Evil  Principle 


THE    YEMASSEE.  21 

chief  turned  away  sternly,  in  a  manner  which  seemed  to  forbid  al. 
other  speech.     She  watched  him  silently  as  he  withdrew,  until  he 
was  hidden  from  sight  by  the  interposing  forest,  then  sank  baclTI 
sorrowfully  into  the  lodge  to  grieve  over  the  excesses  of  an  only  I  ^j 
eon,  exiled  by  a  justly  incensed  father  from  the  abode  of  which  heir 
might  have  been  the  blessing  and  the  pride. 

Sanutee,  in  the  meanwhile,  pursued  his  way  silently  through  a 
narrow  by-path,  leading  to  the  town  of  Pocota-ligo,  which  he 
reached  after  a  brief  period.  The  town  lay  in  as  much  quiet  as 
the  isolated  dwelling  he  had  left.  The  sun  had  not  yet  arisen,  and 
the  scattered  dwellings,  built  low  and  without  closeness  or  order, 
were  partly  obscured  from  sight  by  the  untrimmed  trees,  almost 
in  the  original  forest,  which  shut  them' in.  A  dog,  not  unlike  his 
>7m,  growled  at  him  as  he  approached  one  of  the  more  conspicuous 
Iv/ellings,  and  this  was  the  only  sound  disturbing  the  general 
•lieiice.  He  struck  quietly  at  the  door,  and  inquired  briefly — 

u  Ishiagaska — he  will  go  with  Sanutee  ?" 

A  boy  came  at  the  sound,  and  in  reply,  pointing  to  the  woods, 
gavo  him  to  understand — while  one  hand  played  with  the  handle  - 
of  the  chief's  knife,  which  he  continued  to  draw  from  and  thrust 
back  into  its  sheath,  without  interruption  from  the  wearer — that 
his  father  had  already  gone  forth.  Without  further  pause  or 
inquiry,  Sanutee  turned,  and  taking  his  way  through  the  body  of 
the  town,  soon  gained  the  river.  Singling  forth  a  canoe,  hollowed 
out  from  a  cypress,  and  which  lay  with  an  hundred  others  drawn 
ap  upon  the  miry  bank,  he  succeeded  with  little  exertion  in 
launching  it  forth  into  the  water,  and  taking  his  place  upon  a  seat 
fixed  in  the  centre,  followed  by  his  dog,  with  a  small  scull  or  flap- 
oar,  which  he  transferred  with  wonderful  dexterity  from  one  hand 
to  the  other  as  he  desired  to  regulate  his  course,  he  paddled  himself 
directly  across  the  river,  though  then  somewhat  swollen  and 
impetuous  from  a  recent  and  heavy  freshet.  Carefully  concealing 
his  canoe  in  a  clustering  shelter  of  sedge  and  cane,  which  grew 
along  the  banks,  he  took  his  way,  still  closely  followed  by  his 
faithful  dog,  into  the  bosom  of  a  forest  much  more  dense  than  that 
*vhich  he  had  left,  and  which  promised  a  better  prospect  of  th* 
1  game  which  he  desired. 


CHAPTER  III. 


'  The  red-deer  pauses  not  to  crush 
The  broken  branch  and  withered  brush. 
And  scarcely  may  the  dry  leaves  feel 
His  sharp  and  sudden  hoot  of  heel ; 
For,  startled  in  the  scatter'd  wood, 
In  fear  he  seeks  the  guardian  flood, 
Then  in  the  forest's  deepest  haunt, 
Finds  shelter  and  a  time  to  pant." 


WHAT  seemed  the  object  of  the  chief  Sanutee,  the  most  wise 
and  valiant  among  the  Yemassees?  Was  it  game— was  it  battle? 
To  us  seemingly  objectless,  his  course  had  yet  a  motive.  He 
continued  to  pursue  it  alone.  It  was  yet  early  day,  and,  though 
here  and  there  inhabited,  no  human  being  save  himself  seemed 
stirring  in  that  dim  region.  His  path  wound  about  and 
sometimes  followed  the  edge  of  a  swamp  or  bayou,  formed  by  a 
narrow  and  turbid  creek,  setting  in  from  the  river,  and  making  one 
of  the  thousand  indentations  common  to  all  streams  coursing  through 
the  level  flats  of  the  southern  country.  He  occupied  an  hour  or  more 
in  rounding  this  bayou;  and  then,  with  something  of  directness  in 
his  progress,  he  took  his  way  down  the  river  bank  and  towards 
the  settlement  of  the  whites. 

Yet  their  abodes  or  presence  seemed  not  his  object.  Whenever, 
here  and  there,  as  he  continued  along  the  river,  the  larger  log 
hovel  of  the  pioneer  met  his  sight,  shooting  up  beyond  the  limits 
of  civilization,  and  preparing  the  way  for  its  approach,  the  Indian 
would  turn  aside  from  the  prospect  with  ill-concealed  disgust. 


" He  would  the  plain 

Lay  in  its  tall  old  groves  again." 

Now  and  then,  as — perched  on  some  elevated  bank,  and  plying 
the  mysteries  of  his  woodcraft,  hewing  his  timber,  clearing  his 


THE    YEMASSEK  28 

land,  or  breaking  the  earth — the  borderer  rose  before  his  glance^ 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  his  half-finished  wigwam,  singing  out 
some  cheery  song  of  the  old  country,  as  much  for  the  strengthen 
ing  of  his  resolve  as  for  the  sake  of  the  music,  the  warrior  would 
dart  aside  into  the  forest,  not  only  out  of  sight  but  out  of  hearing, 
nor  return  again  to  the  road  he  was  pursuing  until  fairly  removed 
from  the  chance  of  a  second  contact.  This  desire  to  escape  thiT 
sight  of  the  intrusive  race,  was  not,  however,  to  be  so  readily 
indulged ;  for  the  progress  of  adventure  and  the  long  repose  from 
strife  in  ,the  neighbourhood  had  greatly  encouraged  the  settlers ; 
and  it  was  not  so  easy  for  Sanutee  to  avoid  the  frequent  evidences 
of  that  enterprise  among  the  strangers,  which  was  the  chief  cause_j 
of  his  present  discontent.  Though  without  anything  which  might 
assure  us  of  the  nature  or  the  mood  at  work  within  him,  it  was  yet 
evident  enough  that  the  habitations  and  presence  of  the  whites 
brought  him  nothing  but  disquiet.  He  was  one  of  those  persons, 
fortunately  for  the  species,  to  be  found  in  every  country,  who  are 
always  in  advance  of  the  masses  clustering  around  them.  He  was 
a  philosopher  not  less  than  a  patriot,  and  saw?  while  bejieplored 
the  destiny  which  awaited  his  people.  He  well  knew  that  the 
superior  must  necessarily  be  the  ruin  of  the  race,  which  is  inferio 
• — that  the  one  must  either  sink  its  existence  in  with  that  of  th<J  / 
other,  or  it  must  perish.  He  was  wise  enough  to  see,  that,  in  every 
case  of  a  leading  difference  betwixt  classes  of  men,  either  in  colour 
or  organization,  such  difference  must  only  and  necessarily  eventu 
ate  in  the  formation  of  castes ;  and  the  one  conscious  of  any  infe 
riority,  whether  of  capacity  or  of  attraction,  so  long  as  they  remain, 
in  propinquity  with  the  other,  will  tacitly  become  subjects  if  nTrr 
bondmen.  Apart  from  this  foreseeing  reflection,  Sanutee  had 
already  experienced  many  of  those  thousand  forms  of  assumption 
and  injury  on  the  part  of  the  whites,  which  had  opened  the  eyes 
of  many  of  his  countrymen,  and  taught  them,  not  less  than  him- 
self,  to  know,  that  a  people  once  conscious  of  their  superiority, 
never  be  found  to  hesitate  long  in  its  despotic  exercise  over  their  6 
neighbours.  An  abstract  standard  of  justice,  independent  of  appa- 
tile  or  circumstance,  has  not  often  marked  the  progress  of  Chri*> 


24  THE    YEMASSEE. 

tian  (so  called)  civilization,  in  its  proffer  of  its  great  good  to  the 
naked  savage.  The  confident  reformer,  who  takes  sword  in  one 
hand  and  sacrament  in  the  other,  has  always  found  it  the  surest 
way  to  rely  chiefly  on  the  former  agent.  Accordingly,  it  SOCD 
grew  apparent  to  the  Yemassees,  that,  while  proposing  treaties  for 
the  purchase  of  their  lands,  the  whites  were  never  so  well  satisfied, 
as  when,  by  one  subtlety  or  another,  they  contrived  to  overreach 
them.  Nor  was  it  always  that  even  the  show  of  justice  and  fair 
bargaining  was  preserved  by  the  new  comer  to  his  dusky  brother, 
he  irresponsible  adventurer,  removed  from  the  immediate  surveil- 
ance  of  society,  committed  numberless  petty  injuries  upon  the  pro- 
>erty,  and  sometimes  upon  the  person  of  his  wandering  neighbour, 
without  being  often  subject  to  the  penalties  awarded  by  his  own 
people  for  the  punishment  of  such  offences.  From  time  to  timei 
as  the  whites  extended  their  settlements,  and  grew  confident  in 
their  increasing  strength,  did  their  encroachments  go  on  ;  until  the 
Indians,  originally  gentle  and  generous  enough,  provoked  by 
repeated  aggression,  were  not  unwilling  to  change  their  habit  for 
one  of  strife  and  hostility,  at  the  first  convenient  opportunity.  At 
the  head  of  those  of  the  Yemassees  entertaining  such  a  feeling, 
Sanutee  stood  pre-eminent.  A  chief  and  warrior,  having  great 
influence  with  the  nation,  and  once  exercising  it  warmly  in  favour 
of  the  English,  he  had,  however,  come  to  see  more  certainly  than 
the  rest  of  his  people,  the  degradation  which  was  fast  dogging 
their  footsteps.  Satisfied  of  the  ultimate  destinies  of  his  nation, 
unless  arrested  in  its  descent  to  ruin,  his  mind  was  now  wholly 
delivered  up  to  meditations  upon  measures,  designed  for  relief  and 
redress.  With  a  sagacity  and  intelligence,  such  as  are  seldom  to 
found  among  any  uncivilized  people,  he  discussed  with  himself 
every  possible  form  of  remedy  for  the  evils  and  dangers  of  his  race, 
which  could  be  conceived  by  a  resolute  and  thinking  spirit,  warmed 
by  patriotism  and  desirous  of  justice.  We  shall  see,  in  the  sequel, 
how  deeply  he  had  matured  the  remedy,  and  how  keenly  he  had 
felt  the  necessity  calling  for  its  application. 

At  length  his  wanderings  brought  him  to  a  cottage  more  taste 
fully  constructed  than  the  rest,  having  a  neat  veranda  in  front,  and 
half  concealed  by  the  green  foliage  of  a  thickly  clustering  set  of 


THE    YEMASSEE.  25 

vines.  It  was  the  abode  of  the  Rev.  John  Matthews,*  an  old 
English  Puritan,  who  had  settled  there  with  his  wife  and  daughter, 
and  officiated  occasionally  as  a  pastor,  whenever  a  collection  of  his 
neighbours  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  exhort.  He  was  a  stern 
and_strict,  but  a  good  old  man.  He  stood  in  the  veranda  as  Sanu- 
tee  came  in  sight.  The  moment  the  chief  beheld  him,  he  turned 
away  with  a  bitter  countenance,  and  resolutely  avoiding  the  house 
until  he  had  gone  around  it,  took  no  manner  of  heed  of  the  friendlj 
hail  which  the  old  pastor  had  uttered  on  seeing  him  approach. 

This  proceeding  was  unusual :  Sanutee  and  the  preacher  had 
always  before  maintained  the  best  understanding.  The  unctuous 
exhortations  of  the  latter  had  frequently  found  a  profound  listener 
in  the  red  chief,  and  more  than  once  had  the  two  broken  bread 
together,  in  the  cottage  of  the  one  or  the  wigwam  of  the  other.  The 
good  pastor,  however,  did  not  suffer  his  surprise  at  Sanutee's  con 
duct  to  linger  in  his  memory  long.  He  was  not  of  the  class  who 
love  to  brood  over  the  things  that  bewilder  them.  "  It  is  strange, 
verily,"  quoth  he,  as  he  saw  the  chief  turn  aside  abruptly,  and  in 
silence,  "  very  strange  ;  what  has  vexed  him,  I  wonder  !"  and  here 
his  reflections  ended  in  regard  to  a  proceeding  which  an  old  poli 
tician  of  the  woods  might  have  meditated  with  profit  to  the 
future. 

Meanwhile,  pursuing  a  winding  route,  and  as  much  as  possible 
keeping  the  river  banks,  while  avoiding  the  white  settlements,  the 
Indian  warrior  had  spent  several  hours  since  his  first  departure. 
He  could  not  well  be  said  to  look  for  game,  though,  possibly,  as 
much  from  habit  as  desire,  he  watched  at  intervals  the  fixed  gaze 
of  his  keenlv  scented  dog,  as  it  would  be  concentrated  upon  the 

*  One  of  the  express  conditions  upon  which  the  original  patent  of 
Charles  II.  was  granted  to  the  lord  proprietors  of  Carolina,  was  their  pro 
mulgation  of  the  gospel  among  the  Indiatfs.  Upon  this  charitable  object 
the  mission  of  Mr.  Matthews  was  undertaken,  though  it  may  be  well  to 
add,  that  one  of  the  grounds  of  Objection  made  subsequently  to  the 
proprietary  charter  was  the  neglect  of  the  duty.  An  objection  not.  so 
well  founded, when  we  consider  the  difficulties  which  the  roving  habits  of 
tne  savages  must  at  all  times  and  of  necessity  throw  in  the  way  of  suck 


26  THE    YEMASSEE. 

«v 

woods  on  either  side — now  hearing  and  encouraging  his  cry,  as  ha 
set  upon  the  track  of  deer  or  turkey,  and  pursuing  digressively  the 
occasional  route  of  the  animal  whenever  it  seemed  that  there  was 
any  prospect  of  his  success.  As  yet,  however,  the  chase,  such  as 
it  was,  had  resulted  in  nothing.  The  dog  would  return  from  cover, 
forego  the  scent,  and  sluggishly,  with  drooping  head  and  indolent 
spirit,  silently  trip  along  either  before  or  behind  his  master. 

It  was  about  mid-day  when  the  chief  rested  beside  a  brooklet, 
or,  as  it  is  called  in  the  south,  a  branch,  that  trickled  across  the 
path ;  and  taking  from  the  leathern  pouch  which  he  carried  at  his 
side  a  strip  of  dried  venison,  and  a  small  sack  of  parched  Indian 
meal,  he  partook  of  the  slight  repast  which  his  ramble  had  made 
grateful  enough.  Stooping  over  the  branch,  he  slaked  his  thirst 
from  the  clear  waters,  and  giving  the  residue  of  his  food  to  the 
dog,  who  stood  patiently  waiting  for  the  boon,  he  prepared  to  con 
tinue  his  forward  progress. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  reached  the  Block  House  of  the  set 
tlers — the  most  remote  garrison  station  of  the  English  upon  that 
river.  It  had  no  garrison  at  this  time,  however,  and  was  very 
much  out  of  repair.  Such  had  been  the  friendship  of  the  Yemas- 
sees  heretofore  with  the  Carolinians,  that  no  necessity  seemed  to 
exist,  in  the  minds  of  the  latter,  for  maintaining  it  in  better  order. 
The  Block  House  marked  the  rightful  boundary  of  the  whites 
upon  the  river.  Beyond  this  spot,  they  had  as  yet  acquired  no 
claim  of  territory ;  and,  hitherto,  the  Indians,  influenced  chiefly 
by  Sanutee  and  others  of  their  chiefs,  had  resolutely  refused  to 
make  any  further  conveyance,  or  to  enter  into  any  new  treaty  for 
its  disposal.  But  this  had  not  deterred  the  settlers,  many  of  whom 
had  gone  considerably  beyond  the  limit,  and  suffered  no  interrup 
tion.  All  of  these  were  trespassers,  therefore,  and  in  a  trial  of 
right  would  have  been  soon  dispossessed;  but  in  the  event  of  such 
an  effort,  no  treaty  would  have  been  necessary  to  yield  sufficient 
sanction  to  the  adventurers  for  a  defence  by  arms  of  their  posses- 
,  sions ;  and  many  of  the  borderers  so  obtruding  were  of  a  class  to 
whom  the  continuity  of  the  Indians  was  quite  as  grateful,  and  pro 
bably  as  safe,  as  that  of  their  own  colour.  In  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  Block  House,  however,  the  settlements  had  been  much  more 


THE    YEMASSEE.  27 

numerous.  The  families,  scattered  about  at  a  distance  of  two. 
three,  or  four  miles  from  one  another,  could  easily  assemble  in  its 
shelter  in  the  chance  of  any  difficulty.  The  fabric  itself  was 
chiefly  constructed  for  temporary  use  as  a  place  of  sudden  refuge  • 
and  could 'with  comparative  ease  be  defended  by  a  few  stout  hearts 
and  hands,  until  relief  could  reach  them  from  their  brethren  on 
the  coast.  Though  not  uponf  the  river,  yet  the  distance  of  this 
fortress  from  it  was  inconsiderable — a  mile  or  more,  perhaps, 
and  with  an  unobstructed  path  to  a  convenient  landing.  Retreat 
was  easy,  therefore,  by  this  route,  and  succours  by  the  same  way. 
could  reach  them,  though  all  the  woods  around  were  filled  with 
enemies.  It  was  built  after  the  common  plan  of  such  buildings  ai 
the  time.  An  oblong  square  of  about  an  acre  was  taken  in  by  a 
strong  line  of  pickets,  giving  an  area  upon  either  end  of  the  build 
ing,  but  so  narrow  that  the  pickets  in  front  and  rear  actually  made 
up  part  of  the  fabric,  and  were  immediately  connected  with  itf 
foundation  timbers.  The  house  consisted  of  two  stories,  the  uppe* 
being  divided  by  a  thick  partition  into  two  apartments,  with  a  sin 
gle  clumsy  window  of  about  three  feet  square  in  the  sides  of  each. 
These  windows,  one  or  other,  faced  all  the  points  of  the  compass ; 
and  loopholes,  besides,  were  provided  for  musket  shooting.  Bo- 
yond  the  doorway  there  was  no  other  opening  in  the  stout  logs  of 
which  the  walls  were  made.  The  lower  story  was  a  sort  of  great 
hall,  having  neither  floor  nor  division.  The  only  mode  of  reach 
ing  the  upper  story,  was  a  common  ladder,  which  might  be  planted 
indifferently  against  the  trap -openings  of  each  of  the  chambers; 
each  being  thus  provided  separately  from  the  others,  though  a 
slight  effort  only  was  necessary  to  throw  these  several  apartments 
into  one.  A  line  of  loopholes  below,  at  proper  intervals,  seemed 
to  complete  the  arrangements  for  the  defence  of  this  rude,  but 
sufficient  structure,  serving  for  the  exercise  of  sharpshooters  against 
an  approaching  enemy.  The  house  was  built  of  pine  logs,  put  toge 
ther  as  closely  as  the  nature  of  the  material  and  the  skill  of  the 
artificers  would  permit ;  and,  save  through  the  apertures  and  win 
dows  described,  was  impervious  to  a  musket  bullet.  It  was  suffi 
ciently  spacious  for  the  population  of  the  country,  as  it  then  stood, 
and  the  barrier  made  by  the  high  pickets,  on  either  side,  was  itself 


28  THE    YEMASSEE. 

no  mean  obstacle  in  a  sudden  fray.  A  single  entrance  to  the  right 
area  gave  access  to  the  building,  through  a  doorway,  the  only  one 
which  it  possessed,  opening  in  that  quarter.  The  gate  was  usual! j 
of  oak,  stoutly  made,  and  well  ribbed,  but,  in  the  present  instance, 
it  was  wanting  entirely,  having  been  probably  torn  off  and  carried 
away  by  some  of  the  borderers,  who  found  more  use  for  it  than 
for  the  fortress.  The  friendly  terms  of  relationship,  between  the 
(red  men  and  the  whites,  had  led  to  the  utter  neglect,  and  almost 
total  abandonment  of  their  fortress  by  the  latter.  Men  too  much 
love  their  ease  not  to  believe  promptly  in  the  signs  that  encourage 
confidence,  and  our  woodmen,  a  people  bold  and  adventurous,  are 
usually  quite  as  reckless  and  incautious  as  adventurous.  True,  a^ 
few  hours  might  restore  the  Block  House,  but  in  seasons  of  sur 
prise  a  few  hours  is  an  eternity.  \Ve  might  as  well  expect  the 
one  as  hope  the  other. 

From  the  Block  House,  which  Sanutee  examined  both  within 
and  without  with  no  little  attention  and  some  show  of  discontent, 
he  proceeded  towards  the  river.  A  little  duck-like  thing — a  sort 
of  half  schooner,  but  of  very  different  management  and  rigging, 
lay  in  the  stream,  seemingly  at  anchor.  There  was  no  show  of 
men  on  board,  but  at  a  little  distance  from  her  a  boat  rowed  by 
two  sailors,  and  managed  by  a  third,  was  pulling  vigorously  up 
stream.  The  appearance  of  this  vessel,  which  he  beheld  now  for 
the  first  time,  seemed  to  attract  much  of  his  attention  ;  but  as 
there  was  no  mode  of  communication,  and  as  she  showed  no  flag, 
he  was  compelled  to  stifle  his  curiosity,  from  whatever  cause  it 
might  have  sprung.  Leaving  the  spot,  therefore,  after  a  brief 
examination,  he  plunged  once  more  into  the  forest,  and  as  he  took 
his  way  homeward,  with  more  seeming  earnestness  than  before,  he 
urged  his  dog  upon  the  scent,  while  uiislingiug  his  bow,  and  tight 
ening  the  cord  of  sinews  until  the  elastic  yew  twanged  at  the 
slight  pressure  which  he  gave  it ;  then  choosing  carefully  the 
arrows,  three  in  number,  which  he  released  from  the  string  which 
bound  the  rest,  he  seemed  now  for  the  first  time  to  prepare  himself 
in  good  earnest  for  the  hunt.  In  thus  wandering  from  cover  to 
cover,  he  again  passed  the  greater  number  of  the  white  settle 
ments  in  that  precinct,  and,  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of  hours, 


THE     YEMASSEE.  29 

had  found  his  way  to  a  spacious  swamp,  formed  by  the  overflow 
of  the  river  immediately  at  band,  and  familiarly  known  to  the 

Av-arrior  as  a  great  hiding-place  for  game.  He  perceived  at  t^his 
point  that  the  senses  of  the  intelligent  dog  became  quickened  and 
forward,  and  grasping  him  by  the  slack  skin  of  the  neck,  he  led 
him  to  a  tussock  running  along^at  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  and  in 
a  zigzag  course  passing  through  it,  and  giving  him  a  harking  cheer 
common  to  the  hunters,  he  left  him  and  made  a  rapid  circuit  to 
an  opposite  point,  where  a  ridge  of  land,  making  out  from  the 
bosom  of  the  swamp,  and  affording  a  freer  outlet,  was  generally 
knowi^  as  a  choice  stand  for  the  affrighted  and  fugitive  deer.  He 
had  not  long  reached  the  point  and  taken  cover,  before,  stooping 
to  the  earth,  he  detected  the  distant  baying  of  the  dog,  in  anxious 
pursuit,  keeping  a  direct  course,  and  approaching,  as  was  the  usual 
habit,  along  the  little  ridge  upon  the  border  of  which  he  stood. 
Sinking  back  suddenly  from  sight,  he  crouched  beside  a  bush, 
and  placing  his  shaft  upon  the  string,  and  giving  all  ear  to  the 
sounds  which  now  continued  to  approach,  he  stood  in  readiness  for 
his  victim.  In  another  moment  and  the  boughs  gave  way,  the 
broken  branches  were  whirled  aside  in  confusion,  and,  breaking 
forth  with  headlong  bound  and  the  speed  of  an  arrow,  a  fine  buck 
of  full  head  rushed  down  the  narrow  ridge  and  directly  on  the 
path  occupied  by  the  Indian.  With  his  appearance,  the  left  foot 
of  the  hunter  was  advanced,  the  arrow  was  drawn  back  until  the 
barb  chafed  upon  thT  elastic  yew,  then  whizzing,  with  a  sharp 
twang  and  most  unerring  direction,  it  penetrated  in  another  instant 
the  brown  sides  of  the  precipitate  animal.  A  convulsive  and 
upward  leap  testified  the  sudden  and  sharp  pang  which  he  felt ; 

'  but  he  kept  on,  and,  just  at  the  moment  when  Sanutee,  having 
fitted  another  arrow,  was  about/ to  complete  what  he.  had  so  well 
begun,  a  gunshot  rang  from  a  little  copse  directly  in  front  of  him, 
to  which  the  deer  had  been  flying  for  shelter.  This  ended  his 
progress.  With  a  reeling  stagger  which  completely  arrested  his 
unfinished  leap,  the  victim  sank  sprawling  forward  upon  the  earth, 
m  the  last  agonies  of  death. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"TniB  man  is  not  of  us — his  ways  are  strange, 

And  his  looks  stranger.     Wherefore  does  he  Cu<u* 

f    What  are  his  labours  here,  his  name,  his  purpose, 

And  who  are  they  that  know  and  speak  for  him  1" 

THE  incident  just  narrated  had  scarcely  taken  place,  when  the  dog 
of  the  Indian  chief  bounded  from  the  cover,  and  made  towards 
the  spot  where  the  deer  lay  prostrate.  At  the  same  instant, 
emerging  from  the  copse  whence  the  shot  had  proceeded,  and 
which  ran  immediately  alongside  the  victim,  came  forward  the 
successful  sportsman.  He  was  a  stout,  strange  looking  person, 
rough  and  weather-beaten,  had  the  air,  and  wore  a  dress  fashioned 
something  like  that  of  the  sailor.  He  was  of  middle  stature,  stout 
and  muscular,  and  carried  himself  with  the  yawing,  see-saw  motion, 
,which  marks  the  movements  generally  upon  land  of  that  class  of 
men.  Still,  there  was  something  about  him  that  forbade  the  idea 
of  his  being  a  common  seaman.  There  was  a  daring  insolence 
of  look  and  gesture,  which,  taken  in  connexion  with  the  red,  full 
face,  and  the  watery  eye,  spoke  of  indulgences  and  a  habit  of  un 
restraint  somewhat  inconsistent  with  one  not  accustomed  to 
authority.  His  dress  was  that  of  the  seaman,  but  implied  no  or 
dinary  service.  It  was  that  of  a  person  who  had  his  fancies,  a.' 
well  as  ample  means.  It  was  fashioned  of  the  very  finest  stuffs 
of  the  time.  He  wore  a  blue  jacket,  studded  thickly  with  buttons 
that  hung  each  by  a  link,  and  formed  so  many  pendent  knobs  <>i 
solid  gold  ;  and  there  was  not  a  little  ostentation  in  the  thick  and 
repeated  folds  of  the  Spanish  chain,  made  of  the  same  rich 
material,  which  encircled  his  neck.  His  pantaloons,  free,  like  tlm 
Turkish,  were  also  of  a  light  blue  cloth,  and  a  band  of  gold  lace 
ran  down  upon  the  outer  seam  of  each  leg,  from  the  hip  to  tl.e 
heeL  A  small  dirk,  slightly  curved,  like  that  worn  by  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  31 

officers  of  our  nav}   in    modern  times,  was  the  only  apparent 
weapon  which  he  carried,  beyond  the  short,  heavy  German  rifle 

^he  had  just  used  so  successfully. 

The  deer  had  scarcely  fallen  when  this  personage  advanced 
towards  him  from  the  wood.  Tale  shot  had  been  discharged  at  a 
trilling  distance  from  the  deer,  which  was  pushing  for  the  direct 
spot  where  the  stranger  had  been  stationed.  It  had  penetrated 
the  breast,  and  was  almost  instantly  fatal.  A  few  moments  served 
to  bring  him  to  his  victim,  while  Sanutee  from  the  other  end  of 
the  copse  also  came  forward.  Before  either  of  them  could  get 
sufficiently  nigh  to  prevent  him,  the  dog  of  the  chief,  having 
reached  the  deer,  at  once,  with  the  instinct  of  his  nature,  struck 
jhis  teeth  into  his  throat,  and  began  tearing  it  voraciously  for  the 

'  blood,  which  the  Indian  sportsman  invariably  encouraged  him  to 
drink.  The  stranger  bellowed  to  him  with  the  hope  to  arrest  his 
appetite,  and  prevent  him  from  injuring  the  meat ;  but,  accus 
tomed  as  the  dog  had  been  to  obey  but  one  master,_and  to  ac- 
knowledge  but  a  single  language, 'he  paid  no  attention  to  Che  loud 
cries  and  threats  of  the  seaman,  who  now,  hurrying  forward  with 
a  show  of  more  unequivocal  authority,  succeede^only  in  transfer 
ring  the  ferocity  of  the  dog  from  his  prey  toJiiuiself.  Lifting  his 
gun,  he  threatened  but  to  strike,  Imd  the  animal  sprang  furiously 
upon  him.  Thus  assailed,  the  stranger,  in  good  earnest,  with  a 
formidable^ blow  from  the  butt  of  his  fusil, sent  the  enemy  reeling; 
but  recovering  in  an  Distant,  without  any  seeming  abatement  of 
vigour,  with  a  ferocity  duly  increased  ^mn  his  injury,  he  Hew  with 
more  desperation  than  «ver  to  the  assault,  and,  being  a  dog  of  con 
siderable  strength,  threatened  to  become,  a  formidable . opponent. 
But  the  man  assailed  was  a  cool,  deliberate  person,  and  familiar 
with  enemies  of  every  description.  Adroitly  avoiding  the  dash 
made  at  his  throat  by  the  animal,  he  contrived  to  grapple  with 
him  as  he  reached  the  earth,  and  with  a  single  hand,  with  an  ex 
ercise  of  some  of  the  prodigious  muscle  which  his  appearance 
showed  him  to  possess,  he  held  him  down,  while  with  the  other 
hand  he  deliberately  released  his  dirk  from  its  sheath.  Sanutee, 
who  was  approaching,  and  who  had  made  sundry  efforts  to  call  off 
the  infuriated  dog,  now  cried  out  to  the  seaman  in  broken  English — 


32  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Knife  him  not,  white  man — it  is  good  dog,  knife  him  not." 
But  he  spoke  too  late ;   and  in  spite  of  all  the  struggles  of  the 
animal,  with  a  fierce  laugh  of  derision,  the  sailor  passed  the  sharp 

(edge  of  the  weapon  over  his  throat.  The  deed  was  done  in  an 
instant.  Releasing  his  hold,  which  he  had  still  maintained  with  a 
grasp  of  steel,  and  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  of  the  animal,  he  left 
him  to  perish  where  he  lay,  and  rising,  prepared  to  meet  the  reu  - 
I  man.  The  dog,  with  a  single  convulsion,  lay  lifeless  at  his  feet. 

It  was  fortunate  for  himself  that  he  was  rid  of  the  one  assailant  so 
soon ;  for  he  had  barely  returned  Lis  knife  to  its  sheath,  and  re 
sumed  his  erect  posture,  when  Sanutee,  who  had  beheld  the  whole 
struggle — which,  indeed,  did  not  occupy  but  a  few  minutes — 
plunged  forward  as  furiously  as  the  animal  had  done,  and  the  next 
instant  was  upon  the  stranger.  The  Indian  had  hurried  forward  to 
save  his  dog ;  and  his  feelings,  roused  into  rage  by  what  he  had 
witnessed,  took  from  him  much  of  that  cautious  resolve  and  pru 
dence  which  an  Indian  never  more  exhibits  than  when  his  purpose 
is  revenge.  The  sudden  passions  of  Sanutee,  kindled  so  unexpect- 
j  edly,  and  by  such  a  loss  as  that  which  he  had  just  sustained, 
I  deprived  him  of  his  usual  coolness.  With  a  howl  of  fury,  as  he 
beheld  the  sharp  knife  passing  over  the  throat  of  his  faithful  fol 
lower,  he  bounded  forward.  Throwing  aside  his  bow,  which  now 
only  impeded  his  movements,  he  grappled  the  stranger  with  such 
an  embrace  from  brawny  arms  as  might  have  compelled  even  the 
native  bear  to  cry  for  quarter.  But  our  red  chief  had  found  no 
easy  victim  in  his  grasp.  The  sailor  was  a  stout  fellow,  all  muscle, 
bold  and  fearless,  and  was  prepared  for  the  assault.  It  was  very 
soon  evident  that  Sanutee,  though  muscular  also,  and  admirably 
built,  was  not  exactly  a  match  for  his  present  opponent.  He  was 
taller,  and  less  compact,  and  labored  of  Necessity  under  a  disad 
vantage  in  the  trial  of  strength  which  ensued,  with  one  so  much 
shorter  and  more  closely  set.  The  conditions  of  the  combat 
seemed  to  be  perfectly  well  understood  by  both  parties  ;  for,  with 
the  exception  of  an  occasional  exclamation  from  one  or  the  other, 
in  the  first  movements  of  the  struggle,  no  words  passed  between 
them.  Their  arms  were  interlaced,  arid  their  bodies  closely  locked 
for  a  desperate  issue,  without  parley  or  preparation.  At  first  it 


THE    YEMASSEE.  33 

would  have  been  difficult  to  say  which  of  the  two  could  possibly 
prove  the  better  man.  The  symmetry  of  the  Indian,  his  manly 
height,  and  easy  carriage,  would  necessarily  incline  the  spectator 
in  his  favour;  but  there  was  a  knotted  firmness,  a  tough,  sinewy 
bulk  of  body  in  the  whole  make'cf  his  opponent,  which,  in  con 
nection  with  his  greater  youth,  would  bring  the  odds  in  his  favour. 
If  the  sailor  was  the  stronger,  however,  the  Indian  had  arts  which 
for  a  time  served  to  balance  his  superiority  ;  but  Sanutee  was 
exasperated,  and  this  was  against  him.  His  enemy  had  all  the 
advantage  of  perfect  coolness,  and  a  watchful  circumspection  that 
seemed  habitual.  This  still  defeated,  in  great  part,  the  subtleties 
of  Jiis  assailant.  The  error  of  Sanutee  was  in  suffering  impulse  to 
defeat  reflection,  which  necessarily  came  too  late,  once  engaged  in 
th'e  mortal  struggle.  The,  Indian,  save  in  the  ball-play,  is  no 
wrestler  by  habit.  There  he  may  and  does  wrestle,  and  death  is 
sometimes  the  consequence  of  the  furious  emulation ;  *  but  such 
exercise  is  otherwise  unpractised  among  the  aborigines.  To  regret 
his  precipitation,  however,  was  now  of  little  avail — to  avoid  its 
evils  was  the  object.  - 

One  circumstance  soon  gave  a  turn  to  the  affair,  which  promised  a 
result  decisive  on  one  side  or  the  other.  So  close  had  been  the  grasp, 
so  earnest  the  struggle,  that  neither  of  them  could  attempt  to  free  and 
employ  his  knife  without  giving  a  decided  advantage  to  his  enemy  ; 
but  in  one  of  those  movements  which  distorted  their  bodies,  until 
the  ground  was  nearly  touched  by  the  knees  of  both,  the  knife  of 
the  Indian  warrior  fell  from  its  sheath,  and  lay  beside  them  upon 
the  turf.  To  secure  its  possession  was  the  object,  upon  which, 
simultaneously  as  it  were,  both  their  eyes  were  cast ;  but,  duly  with 
the  desire,  came  the  necessity  of  mutual  circumspection,  and  so 
well  aware  were  they  both  of  this  necessity,  that,  it  is  probable,  but 
for  an  unlooked-for  circumstance,  the  battle  must  have  been  pro 
tracted  sufficiently  long,  by  exhausting  both  parties,  to  have  made 
it  a  drawn  one.  The  affair  might  then  have  ended  in  a  compro 

*  In  a  fair  struggle,  engaged  in  this  manly  exercise,  to  kill  the  antagonist 
is  legitimate  with  the  Indians  generally;  all  other  forms  of  murder  call 
for  revenge  and  punishment. 

2* 


THE    YEMASSEE. 

raise ;  but,  it  so  happened,  that,  in  the  perpetual  change  of  ground 
and  position  by  the  combatants,  the  foot  of  Sanutee  at  length 
became  entangled  with  the  body  of  his  dog.  As  he  felt  the 
wrinkling  skin  glide,  and  the  ribs  yield  beneath  him,  an  emotion 
of  tenderness,  a  sort  of  instinct,  operated  at  once  upon  him,  and, 
as  if  fearing  to  hurt  the  object,  whose  utter  insensibility  he  did  not 
seem  at  that  moment  to  recollect,  he  drew  up  his  foot  suddenly, 
and  endeavoured  to  avoid  the  animal.  By  separating  his  legs  with 
this  object,  he  gave  his  adversary  an  advantage,  of  which  he  did 
not  fail  to  avail  himself.  With  the  movement  of  Sanutee,  he 
threw  one  of  his  knees  completely  between  those  of  the  warrior, 
and  pressing  his  own  huge  body  at  the  same  time  forward  upon 
him,  they  both  fell  heavily,  still  interlocked,  upon  the  now  com 
pletely  crushed  carcase  of  the  dog.  The  Indian  chief  was  par 
tially  stunned  by  the  fall,  but  being  a-top,  the  sailor  was  unhurt. 
In  a  moment,  recovering  himself  from  the  relaxed  grasp  of  his 
opponent,  he  rose  upon  his  knee,  which  he  pressed  down  heavily 
upon  Sanutee's  bosom  ;  the  latter  striving  vainly  to  possess  himself 
of  the  tomahawk  sticking  in  his  girdle.  But  his  enemy  had  too 
greatly  the  advantage,  and  was  quite  too  watchful  to  permit  of  his 
succeeding  in  this  effort.  The  whole  weight  of  one  knee  rested 
upon  the  instrument,  which  lay  in  the  belt  innocuous.  With  a 
fearful  smile,  which  spoke  a  ferocious  exultation  of  spirit,  in  the 
next  moment  the  sailor  drew  the  dirk  knife  from  his  own  side,  and 
nourishing  it  over  the  eyes  of  the  defenceless  Indian,  thus  addressed 
him:— 

\  "  And  now,  what  do  you  say  for  yourself,  you  red-skinned  devil  ? 
Blast  your  eyes,  but  you  would  have  taken  my  scalp  for  little  or 
nothing — only  because  of  your  confounded  dog,  and  he  at  my 
throat  too.  What  if  I  take  yours  ?" 

"  The  white  man  will  strike,"  calmly  responded  the  chief,  while 

his  eyes  looked  the  most  savage  indifference,  and  the  lines  of  his 

/  mouth  formed  a  play  of  expression  the  most  composed  and  natural. 

"  Ay,  d e,  but  I  will.     I'll  give  you  a  lesson  to  keep  you  out 

of  mischief  for  ever  after,  or  I've  lost  my  reckoning  and  have  no 
skill  in  seamanship.  Hark  ye  now,  you  red  devil — wherefore  di«J 
y ou  set  upon  rne  ?  Is  a  man's  blood  no  better  than  a  dog's  ?" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  35 

"  The  white  man  is  a  dog.     I  spit  upon  him,"  was  the  reply 
accompanied,  as   the  chief  spoke,  with  a  desperate  struggle  at 
release,  made  with  so  much  earnestness  and  vigour  as  for  a  few 
moments  seemed  to  promise  to  be^iuccessful.     But  failing  to  suc 
ceed,  the  attempt  only  served  to  confirm  the  savage  determination 
of  his  conqueror,  whose  coolness  at  such  a  moment,  more  perhaps 
rhan  anything  beside,  marked  a  person  to  whom  the  shedding  01 
blood  seemed  a  familiar  exercise.     He  spoke  to  the  victim  he  was 
about  to  strike  fatally,  with  as  much  composure  as  if  treating  o» 
the  most  indifferent  matter. 

"Ay,  blast  you,  but  you're  all  alike.     There's  but  one  way  to/ 
make  sure  of  a  redskin,  and  that  is,  to  slit  his  gills  whenever  there's) 
a  chance.     I  know  you'd  cut  mine  soon  enough,  and  that's  all   I 
want  to  know  to  make  me  cut  yours.     Yet,  who  are  you — are  you 
one  of  these  Yemassees  ?  ^  Tell  me  vour  name ;  I  always  like  to 
know  whose  blood  I  let" 

"  Does  the  white  man  sleep? — strike  ;  I  do  not  shut  my  eyes  t,«> 
the  knife." 

"  Well,  d — n  it,  red-skin,  I  see  you  don't  want  to  get  off,  and 
I'm  not  the  man  to  baulk  a  fellow's  spirit  when  it's  his  own  pleasure 
to  walk  the  plank.  It's  as  natural  to  me  to  cut  a  red-skin's  throat 
as  it  is  to  him  to  scalp  a  white ;  and  you  seem  to  be  one  of  that 
sort  of  people  whom  it's  a  sort  ot  pleasure  to  help  through  the 
world.  And  yet,  if  you  are  one  of  these  Yemassee  red-skins  ! — 

This  was  spoken  inquiringly.  Sanutee  did  not  answer.  Neither 
did  he  remafn  passive.  Whether  it  was  that  the  grasp  of  the  sailor 
had  been  somewhat  relaxed  upon  him,  that  he  had  somewhat  reco 
vered  his  own  strength,  or  beheld  in  the  white  man's  eye  something 
of  that  incertitude  which  seemed  to  lurk  in  his  language,  in  spite 
of  its  ferocity,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  But,  just  at  this  time, 
his  struggles  were  renewed,  and  with  a  determined  effort.  But  the 
knife  was  flourished  over  his  .eyes  the  moment  after. 

"  Ah !  blast  you,  there's  no  saving  you !  It's  your  throat  or 
mine,  I  see ;  so  here's  at  you,  with  as  sharp  a  tooth  as  ever  bit  the 
throat  of  white  skin  or  a  red !" 

Sanutee  threw  up  an  arm  to  avert  the  weapon ;  but  the  stroke 
had  been  a  feint.  In  another  moment  the  sharp  steel  was  driveo 


86  THE    YEMASSEE. 

towards  the  side  of  the  victim.  The  red  chief,  ere  the  blow  wae 
felt,  conjectured  its  direction.  Ilis  eyes  closed,  and  in  his  own 
language  he  began  to  mutter  sounds  which  might  have  embodied 
his  chant  of  many  victories.  He  had  begun  his  death  song.  But 
he  still  lived.  The  blow  was  arrested  at  the  very  moment  when 
it  was  about  to  penetrate  his  heart.  The  sailor,  seized  from  behind, 
wa;-  dragged  backwards  from  the  body  of  his  victim  by  anotJ^er  and 
a  powerful  hand.  The  opportunity  to  regain  his  feet  was  ii^l  lost 
upon  the  Indian,  who,  standing  now  erect  with  his  bared  hatchec, 
again  confronted  his  enemy,  without  any  loss  of  courage,  and  on  a 
more  equal  footing. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  Hi»  eye  hath  that  within  it  which  affirm* 

I  The  noble  gentleman.     Pray  you,  mark  him  well ; 

Without  his  office  we  may  nothing  do 

Pleasing  to  this  fair  company." 

THE  sailor  turned  fiercely,  dirk  in  hand,  upon  the  person  who 
had  thus  torn  him  from  his  victim  ;  but  he  met  an  unflinching 
front,  and  a  weapon  far  more  patent  than  his  own.  The  glance  of 
the  new  comer,  not  less  than  his  attitude,  warned  him  of  the  most 
perfect  readiness;  while  a  lively  expression  of  the  eye,  and  the 
something  of  a  smile  which  slightly  parted  his  lips,  gave  a  care 
less,  cavalier  assurance  to  'his  air,  which  left  it  doubtful  whether, 
in  reality,  he  looked  upon  a  contest  as  even  possible  at  that  mo 
ment.  The  stranger  was  about  thirty  years  old,  with  a  rich  Euro 
pean  complexion,  a  light  blue  eye,  and  features  moulded  finely,  so- 
as  to  combine  manliness  with  as  much  of  beauty  as  might  well 
comport  with  it.  He  was  probably  six  feet  in  height,  straight  as 
an  arrow,  and  remarkably  well  and  closely  set.  He  wore  a  dress 
common  among  the  gentlemen  of  that  period  and  place — a  sort  of 
compound  garb,  in  which  the  fashion  of  the  English  cavalier  of 
the  second  Charles  had  been  made  to  coalesce  in  some  leading 
particulars  with  that  which,  in  the  American  forests,  seemed  to  be 
imperatively  called  for  by  the  noyel  circumstances  and  mode  of 
life  prevailing  in  the  region.  The  sur-coat  was  of  a  dark  blue 
stuff,  usually  worn  open  at  the  bosom,  and  displaying  the  rich  folds 
of  the  vest  below  to  the  taste  of  the  wearer,  but  which  on  the  pre 
sent  occasion  was  of  the  purest  white.  The  underclothes  were  o* 
a  light  gray,  fitting  closely  a  person  which  they  happily  accom 
modated,  yet  served  admirably  to  display.  His  buskins  were  like 
those  worn  by  the  Indians.  A  broad  buckskin  belt  encircled  his 
waist,  and  secured  the  doublet  which  came  midway  down  his 
high.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  light  fusil  of  peculiarly  gracefu' 


38  THE    YEMASSEE. 

make  for  that  period,  and  richly  ornamented  with  drops  of  silver 
let  in  tastefully  along  the  stock,  so  as  to  shape  vaguely  a  va/iety 
of  forms  and  figures.  The  long  knife  stuck  in  his  belt  was  his 
only  other  weapon ;  and  this,  forming  as  it  does  one  of  the  most 
essential  implements  of  woodcraft,  we  may  scarcely  consider  it 
under  that  designation.  A  white  Spanish  hat,  looped  broadly  up 
at  one  of  the  sides,  and  secured  with  a  small  button  of  gold, 
vested  slightly  upon  his  head,  from  which,  as  was  the  fashion  of 
the  time,  the  brown  hair  in  long  clustering  ringlets  depended  about 
the  neck. 

The  sailor,  as  we  have  said,  turned  immediately  upon  the  person 
who,  so  opportunely  for  Sanutee,  had  torn  him  from  the  body  of 
the  Indian  ;  but  he  encountered  the  presented  rifle,  and  the  clicking 
of  the  cock  assured  him  of  the  perfect  readiness  of  him  who  carried 
it  to  encounter  his  enemy  in  any  way  that  he  might  choose.  There 
was  that  in  the  stranger's  eye  which  showed  him  to  be  as  cool  and 
confident,  as  he  was  vigorous  and  young.  The  sailor  saw  that  he 
was  no  child — that  he  was  not  less  powerful  of  make  than  the  red 
man,  and  if  his  muscles  had  not  yet  the  same  degree  of  hardihood, 
jhey  were  yet  much  more  flexible  for  use.  The  single,  sudden  effort, 
by  which  he  had  been  drawn  away  from  his  victim,  indicated  the 
possession  of  a  degree  of  strength  which  made  the  sailor  pause  and 
move  cautiously  in  his  advance  upon  the  intruder. 

"  Well,  my  good  master,"  said  the  seaman,  having  arrived  at 
some  prudent  conclusion  which  tended  in  a  slight  degree  to  mode 
rate  his  fury — "  what  is  this  matter  to  you,  that  you  must  meddle 
in  other  men's  quarrels  ?  Have  you  so  many  lives  to  spare  that  you 
must  turn  my  knife  from  the  throat  of  a  wild  savage  to  your  own  ?" 

"  Put  up  your  knife,  good  Pepperbox — put  it  up  while  you  have 
permission,"  said  the  person  so  addressed,  very  complaisantly,  "  and 
thank  your  stars  that  I  came  in  time  to  keep  you  from  doing  what 
none  of  us  might  soon  undo.  Know  you  riot  the  chief — would  you 
strike  the  great  chief  of  the  Yemassees — our  old  friend  Sanutee— 
the  best  friend  of  the  English  ?" 

"  And  who  the  devil  cares  whether  he  be  a  friend  to  the  English 
or  not  ?  I  don't ;  and  would  just  as  lief  cut  his  throat  as  vours,  i4 
I  thought  proper," 


1   THE    YEMASSEE.  39 

"  Ha  !  indeed  I  you  care  not  whose  throat  is  cut !  you  care  not 
for  "the  friends  of  the  English  !  very  wise  indifference  that,  stand 
ing  here,  as  you  do,  in  the  midst  of  an  English  settlement.  Pray, 
who  are  you,  my  good  fellow,  and  wmther  do  you  come  from  ?" 
>  Such  was  the  response  of  the  Cavalier  to  the  sailor,  whom  the 
Ma^iguage  of  the  former  seemed  fcj  a  moment  to  arouse  into  his 
former  fury.  But  this  he  found  it  politic  to  restrain ;  a  necessity 
which  made  him  not  a  whit  more  amiable  than  before.  There  was 
some  secret  motive  or  policy,  or  it  might  be  a  sense  of  moral  inferi 
ority,  in  breeding  or  in  station,  which  seemed  to  have  the  effect  of 
keeping  down  and  quelling,  in  some  sort,  the  exhibitions  of  a  tem 
per  which  otherwise  would  have  prompted  him  again  to  blows. 
The  pause  which  he  made,  before  responding  to  the  last  direct 
enquiry,  seemed  given  to  reflection.  His  manner  became  suddenly 
more  moderate,  and  his  glance  rested  frequently,  and  with  an 
enquiring  expression,  upon  the  countenance  of  the  Indian.  At 
length,  giving  a  direct  reply  to  the  interrogatory  of  the  Cavalier, 
which  seemed  a  yielding  of  the  strife,  he  replied, 

"  And  suppose,  fair  master,  I  don't  choose  to  say  who  I  am,  and 
from  whence  I  come. — What  then  ?" 

"  Why  then  let  it  alone,  my  patient  Hercules.  I  care  little 
whether  you  have  a  name  or  not.  You  certainly  cannot  have  an 
honest  one.  For  me  you  shall  be  Hercules  or  Nebuchadnezzar — 
you  shall  be  Turk,  or  Ishmaelite,  or  the  devil — it  matters  not 
-vhence  a  man  comes  when  it  is  easily  seen  whither  he  will  go." 

The  countenance  of  the  sailor  again  grew  dark  with  angry  pas- 
iions.  The  cool,  contemptuous,  jeering  language  and  manner  of 
the  cavalier  were  almost  insupportable  to  one  who  had  probably  felt 
himself  to  be  as  great  as  Xerxes  when  on  the  quarter  of  his  sloop 
or  schooner.  He  showed  clearly  in  the  sudden  flashing  of  his  eye, 
and  the  reddening  darkness  of  his  cheek,  that  his  passion  was  of  a 
sort  to  prompt  him  to  instantaneous  grapple  with  his  questioner, 
but  he  remained  stubbornly  silent.  It  was  with  evident  effort, 
however  that  he  commenced  the  process  of  thinking  himself  into 
composure  ana  caution.  He  had  his  own  reasons,  and  there  were  pur 
poses  in  his  mind,  that  compelled  him  to  consideration  and  forbear 
ance.  But  for  too  frequent  draughts  of  Jamaica,  this  self-subjection 


40  THE    YEMASSEE. 

s 

had  been  more  easy  from  the  first.  Proceeding  in  a  leisurely  man 
ner  to  reload  his  fusil,  he  offered  no  interruption  to  the  English* 
man,  who  now  addressed  himself  to  the  Indian. 

"You  have  suffered  a  lu*s,  Sanutee,  and  I'm  sorry  for  it,  chief. 
But  you  shall  have  another — a  dog  of  mine — a  fine  pup  which  1 
have  in  Charleston.  When  will  you  go  down  to  see  your  English 
brother  at  Charleston  ?" 

"  Who  is  the  brother  of  Sanutee  ?" 

"  The  governor — you  have  never  seen  him,  and  he  would  like  to 
see  you.  If  you  go  not  to  see  him,  he  will  think  you  love  him  not, 
and  that  you  lie  on  the  same  blanket  with  his  enemies." 

"  Sanutee  is  the  chief  of  the  Yernassees — he  will  stay  at  Pocota- 
ligo  with  his  people." 

"  Well,  be  it  so.     I  shall  send  you  the  dog  to  Pocota-ligo." 
f     "  Sanutee  asks  no  dog  from  the  warrior  of  the  English.    The  dog 
of  the  English  hunts  after  the  dark-skin  of  my  people." 

"  No,  no,  old  chief — not  so  !  I  don't  mean  to  give  you  Dugdale. 
Dugdale  never  parts  with  his  master,  if  I  can  help  it ;  but  you  say 
wrong.  The  dog  of  the  English  has  never  hunted  the  Yemassee 
warrior.  He  has  only  hunted  the  Savannahs  and  the  Westoes, 
who  were  the  enemies  of  the  English." 

"  The  eyes  of  Sanutee  are  good — he  has  seen  the  dog  of  the 
English  tear  the  throat  of  his  brother." 

"The  charge  is  a  strange  one,  Sanutee,  and  I  do  not  understand 
it.  But  you  are  angered  now,  and  perhaps  with  reason.  I  shall 
see  you  hereafter.  I  will  myself  bring  to  Pocota-ligo,  the  dog 
that  I  promise  you.  He  will  prove  better  than  the  one  you  have 
lost." 

"  Sanutee  would  not  see  the  young  brave  of  the  English  at 
Pocota-ligo.  Pocota-ligo  is  for  the  Yemassees.  Let  the  Coosaw- 
"feijler  come  not.** 

"  Hah  !  What  does  all  this  mean,  Sanutee  ?  Are  we  not  friends  ? 
Are  not  the  Yemassee  arid  the  English  two  brothers,  'Jiat  tak*- 
the  same  track,  and  have  the  same  frit  t\ds  and  enemies  !  Is  it  no* 
so,  Sanutee  ?" 

"  Swaks  the  young  chief  with  a  straight  tongue — he  says." 

tt  I  speak  truth ;  and  will  come  to  see  you  in  Pocota-ligo," 


THE    YEMASSEE.  41 

"  No  ;  the  young  brave  will  come  not  to  Pocota-ligo.  It  is  the 
season  of  the  corn,  and  the  Yemassee  will  gather  to  the  festival." 

"The  green  corn  ^festival  1  I  mu^L  be  there,  Sariutee,  and  you 
•>  must  not  deny  me.  You  were  not  wont  to  be  so  inhospitable^  old- 
Sihief  •  nor  will  I  suffer  it  now.  I  would  see  the  lodge  of  the  great 
chie  I  would  partake  of  the  venison  —  some  of  this  fine  buck 
which  the  hands  of  Mativvan  'will  dress  for  the  warrior's  board 
this  very  evening." 

"  You  touch  none  of  that  buck,  either  of  you  ;  so  be  not  so  free, 
young  master.  It's  my  game,  and  had  the  red-skin  been  civil,  he 
should  have  had  his  share  in  it  ;  but,  as  it  is,  neither  you  nor  he 
lay  hands  on  it  ;  not  a  stiver  of  it  goes  into  your  hatch,  d  —  n 
me." 

The  sailor  had  listened  with  a  sort  of  sullen  indifference  to  the 
dialogue  which  had  been  going  on  between  Sanutee  and  the  new 
comer;  but  his  looks  indicated  impatience  not  less  than  sullen  - 
ness  ;  and  he  took  the  opportunity  afforded  him  by  the  last  words 
of  the  latter,  to  gratify,  by  the  rude  speech  just  given,  the  malig 
nity  of  his  excited  temper. 

"  Why,  how  now,  churl  ?"  was  the  response  of  the  Englishman, 
turning  suddenly  upon  the  seaman,  with  a  haughty  indignation 
as  he  spoke  —  "  how  now,  churl-?  is  this  a  part  of  the  world  where 
civility  is  so  plentiful  that  you  must  fight  and  quarrel  to  avoid  a 
surfeit.  Hear  you,  sirrah  ;  these  woods  have  bad  birds  for  the 
unruly,  and  you  may,  find  them  hard  enough  to  get  through  if  you 
put  not  more  good  humour  under  your  tongue.  Take  your  meat, 
for  a  surly  savage  as  you  are,  and  /be  off  as  quickly  as  you  can  ; 
and  may  the  first  mouthful  choke  yea.  Take  my  counsel,  Bully- 
boy,  and  clear  your  joints,  or  you  may  chance  to  get  more  of  your 
merits  than  your  venison." 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you,  to  order  me  off  ?  I'll  go  at  my 
pleasure  ;  and  as  for  the  Indian,  and  as  for  you  —  " 

"  Well,  what,  Hercules  ?" 

"  Well,  look  to  square  accounts  with  me  when  I'm  ready  for 
the  reckoning.  There's  no  sea-room,  if  I  can't  have  it  out  of  you, 
perhaps  when  you're  least  able  to  pay  out  rope." 

**  Pooh  1  pooh  !  "  replied  the  cavalier,  coolly.     "  You   threaten, 


42  THE    YEMASSEE. 

do  you  ?  Well,  as  you  please  and  when  you  please !  and  now 
that  you  have  discharged  your  thunder,  will  you  be  good-natured 
for  once,  and  let  your  departure  be  tak2n  for  a  promise  of  improve 
ment  in  your  manner." 

"What,  go!" 

"  Exactly  !     You  improve  in  understanding  clearly." 

"  I'll  go  when  I  please.  I'll  be  d — d,  if  I  turn  my  back  at  tho 
bidding  of  any  man." 

"  You'll  be  something  more  than  d — d,  old  boy,  if  you  stay. 
We  are  two,  you  see ;  and  here's  my  Hector,  who's  a  little  old  to 
be  sure,  but  is  more  than  your  match  now  " — and  as  the  English 
man  spoke,  he  pointed  to  the  figure  of  a  sturdy  black,  approaching 
the  group  from  the  copse. 

"And  I  care  not  if  you  were  two  'dozen.  You  don't  scare  me 
with  your  numbers.  I  shan't  go  till  it  suits  my  pleasure,  for  either 
red-skin,  or  white-skin,  or  black-skin  ;  no,  not  while  my  name  is — 

"  What  ?"  was  the  inquiry  of  the  Englishman,  as  the  speaker 
paused  at  the  unuttered  name ;  but  the  person  addressed  grinned, 
with  a  sort  of  triumph  at  having  extorted  this  show  of  curiosity 
on  the  part  of  the  cavalier,  and  cried  : 

"Ah  !  you  'd  like  to  know,  would  you  ?  Well,  what  Ml  you  give 
for  the  information  I" 

"  Pshaw !"  replied  the  cavalier,  turning  from  the  fellow  with 
contempt,  and  once  more  addressing  the  red  chief. 

"  Sanutee,  do  you  really  mean  that  you  would  not  see  me  at 
Pocota-ligo.  Is  your  lodge  shut  against  your  friend.  Is  there  no 
iiuoking  venison  which  will  be  put  before  me  when  I  come  to  the 
lodge  of  Matiwan.  Why  is  this  ?  I  meant  to  go  home  with  you 
this  very  night." 

Sanutee  replied  sternly: 

"  The  great  chief  of  the  Yemassees  will  go  alone.  He  wants 
not  that  the  Coosaw-killer  should  darken  the  lodge  of  Matiwan. 
"Let  Harrison"— and  as  he  addressed  the  Englishman  by  his  name, 
he  placed  his  hand  kindly  upon  his  shoulder,  and  his  tones  were 
more  conciliatory — "  let  Harrison  go  down  to  his  ships — let  him 
go  with  the  pale-faces  to  the  other  lands.  Has  he  not  a  mother 
that  looks  for  him  at  evening  ?" 


THE     YEMASSEE.  43 

s 

"  Sanutee,"  said  Harrison,  fixing  his  eye  upon  him  curiously, — 
"wherefore  should  the  English  go  upon  the  waters ?" 

"  The  Yeiyassees  would  look  on  the  big  woods,  and  calLihem 
their  own.  'The  Yemassees  would  fee  free." 

*•  "Old  chief,'' — exclaimed  the  Englishman,  in  a  stern  but  low 
voice,  while  his  quick,  sharp  eye  seemed  to  explore  the  very  recesses 
of  the  red  chief's  soul, — "  Old  chief;  thou  hast  spoken  with  the 
Spaniard !"  v 

The  Indian  paused  for  an  instant,  but  showed  no  signs  of  emotion 
or  consciousness  at  a  charge,  which/ at  that  period,  and  under  the 
then  existing  circumstances,  almost  involved  the  certainty  of  his 
hostility  towards  the  Carolinians**  with  whom  the  Spaniards  of 
Florida  were  perpetually  at  war.  He  replied,  after  an  instant's 
hesitation,  in  a  calm,  fearless  manner  : 

"  Sanutee  is  a  man — he  is  a  father-^he  is  a  chief — the  great 
chief  cf  the  Yemassee.  Shall  he  come  to  the  Coosaw-killer,  and 
ask  when  he  would  loose  his  tongue  ?  Sanutee,  when  the  swift 
hurricane  runs  along  the  woods,  goes  into  the  top  of  the  tall  pine, 
and  speaks  boldly  t^  the  Manneyto — shall  he  not  speak  to  the 
English — shall  he  not  speak  to  the  Spaniard  ?  Does  Harrison  see 
Sanutee  tremble,  that  his  eye  looks  down  into^is  bosom  ?  Sanutee 
has  no  fear." 

"  I  know  it,  chief — I  know  it — but  I  would  have  you  without 
guile  also.  There  is  something  wrong,  chief,  which  you  will  not 
show  me.  I  would  speak  to  you  of  this  and  other  matters,  neces 
sary  to  the  safety  and  happiness  of  your  people,  DO  less  than  mine, 
therefore  I  would  go  with  you  to  Pocota-ligo." 

"  Focota-ligo  is  for  the  Manneyto^ — it  is  holy  ground — the  great 
feast  of  the  green  corn  is  there.  The  white  man  may  not  go  when 
the  Yemassee  would  be  alone." 

"  But  white  men  are  in  Pocota-ligo — is  not  Granger  there,  the 
fur  trader  ?" 

"  He  will  go,"  replied  the  chief,  evasively.  With  these  words 
he  turned  away  to  depart ;  but  suddenly,  with  an  air  of  more 
interest,  returning  to  the  spot  where  Harrison  stood,  seemingly  in 
meditation,  he  again  touched  his  arm,  and  spoke  : 

Elarrison  will  go  down  to  the  sea  with  his  people.     Let  him  go 


44  THE    YEHASSEE. 

to  Keawah.  Does  the  Coosaw-killer  hear  ?  Sanutee  is  the  wise 
chief  of  Yemassee." 

"  I  am  afraid  the  wise  chief  of  Yemassee  is  about  to  do  a  great 
felly.  But,  for  the  present,  Sanutee,  let  there  be  rib  misunder 
standing  between  us  and  our  people.  Is  there  any  thing  of  which 
you  complain  ?" 

"  Did  Sanutee  coine  on  his  knees  to  the  English  ?  He  begs  not 
bread — he  asks  for  no  blanket." 

"  True,  Sanutee,  I  know  all  that — I  know  your  pride,  and  that 
of  your  people  ;  and  because  I  know  it,  if  you  have  had  wrong 
from  our  young  men,  I  would  have  justice  done  you." 

"  The  Yemassee  is  not  a  child — he  is  strong,  he  has  knife  and 
hatchet — and  his  arrow  goes  straight  to  the  heart.  He  begs  not 
for  the  justice  of  the  English." 

"  Yet,  whether  you  beg  for  it  or  not,  what  wrong  have  they  done 
you,  that  they  have  not  been  sorry  ?" 

"Sorry — will  sorry  make  the  dog  of  Sanutee  to, live?" 

"  Is  this  the  wrong  of  which  you  complain,  Sanutee  ?  Such 
wrongs  are  easily  repaired.  But  you  are  unjust  in  the  matter. 
The  dog  assaulted  the  stranger,  and  though  he  might  have  been 
more  gentle,  and  less  hasty,  what  he  did  seems  to  have  been  done 
m  self-defence.  The  deer  was  his  game." 

"  Ha,  does  Harrison  see  the  arrow  of  Sanutee  ?"  and  he  pointed 
to  the  broken  shaft  still  sticking  in  the  side  of  the  animal. 

"  True,  that  is  your  mark,  and  would  have  been  fatal  after  a 
time,  without  the  aid  of  gunshot.  The  other  was  more  immediate 
in  effect." 

"  It  is  well.  Sanutee  speaks  not  for  the  meat,  nor  for  the  dog. 
He  begs  no  justice  from  the  English,  and  their  braves  may  go  to 
the  far  lands  in  their  ships,  or  they  may  hold  fast  to  the  land 
which  is  the  Yemassee's.  The  sun  and  the  storm  are  brothers — 
Sauutee  has  said." 

Harrison  was  about  to  reply,  when  his  eye  caught  a  glimpse  of 
another  person  approaching  the  scene.  He  was  led  to  observe 
him,  by  noticing  the  glance  of  the  sailor  anxiously  fixed  in  the 
same  direction.  That  personage  had  cooled  off  singularly  in  his 
savageaess  of  mood,  and  had  been  a  close  and  attentive  listener  to 


THE    YEMASSEE.  4fc 

the  dialogue  just  narrated.  His  earnestness  had  not  passed 
unobserved  by  tlie  Englishman,  whose  keenness  of  judgment,  not 
less  than  of  vision,  had  discovered  something  more  in  the  mannei 
<tf  they  sailor  than  was  intended  for  tnileye..  Following  closely  his 
gaze,  while  still  arguing  with  Sariutee,  he  discovered  in  the  new 
comer  the  person  of  one  of  the  most  subtle  chiefs  of  the  Yemassee 
nation — a  dark,  brave,  collected  malignant,  Ishiagaska, .by-name 
A  glance  of  recognition  passed  over  the  countenance  of  the  sailor, 
but  the  features  of  the  savage  were  immoveable.  Harrison  watched 
both  of  them,  as  the  new  comer  approached,  and  he  was  satisfied 
from  the  expression  of  the  sailor  that  the  parties  ,knew  each  other. 
'Once  assured  of  this,  he  determined  in  his  own  mind  that  his 
presence  should  offer  no  sort  of  interruption  to  their  freedom  ;  and, 
with  a  few  words  to  Ishiagaska  and  Sanutee,  in  the  shape  of  civil 
wishes  and  a  passing  inquiry,  the  Englishman,  who,,  from  his  past 
conduct  in  the  war  of  the  Carolinians  with  the  Coosaws,  had 
acquired  among  the  Yemassees,  according  to  the  Indian  fashion, 
,the  imposing  epithet,  so  frequently  used  in  the  foregoing  scene  by 
Sanutee,  of  Coosah-mgray-te — or,  as  it  has  been  Englished,  the 
killer  of  the  Coosaws — took  his  departure  from  the  scene,  followed 
by  the  black  slave,  Hector.  As  he -left  the  group  he  approached 
the  sailor,  who  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  Indians,  and  with  a 
whisper,  addressed  him  in  a  sentence  which  he  intended  should  be 
a  test. 

"  Hark  ye,  Ajax ;  take  safe  advice,  and  be  out  of  the  woods  as 
soon  as  you  can,  or  you  will  have  a  long  arrow  sticking  in  your 
ribs." 

The  blunt  sense  of  the  sailor  did  not  see  further  than  the  osten 
sible  object  of  the  counsejjthus  conveyed,  and  his  answer  confirmed, 
to  some  extent,  the  previous  impression  of  Harrison  touching  his 
acquaintance  with  Ishiagaska. 

"  Keep  your  advice  for  a  better  occasion,  and  be  d — d  to  you, 
for  a  conceited  whipper-snapper  as  you  are.  You  are  more  likely 
to  feel  the  arrow  than  I  am,  and  so  look  to  it." 

Harrison  noted  well  the  speech,  which  in  itself  had  little  mean 
ing  ;  but  it  conveyed  a  consciousness  of  security  on  the  part  of  the 
seaman,  after  his  previous  combat  with  Sanutee,  greatly  out  d 


46  THE    YEMASSEE. 

place,  unless  he  possessed  some  secret  resources'  upon  which  to 
rely.  The  instant  sense  of  Harrison  readily  felt  this ;  but,  apart 
from  this,  there  was  something  so  sinister  and  so  assured  in  tha 
glance  of  the  speaker,  accompanying  his  words,  that  llarrison  did 
not  longer  doubt  the  justice  of  his  conjecture.  He  saw  that  there 
was  business  between  the  seaman  and  the  last-mentioned  Indian 
He  had  other  reasons  for  this  belief,  which  the  progress  of  events 
will  show.  Contenting  himsell  with  what  had  been  said,  he  turned 
away  with  a  lively  remark  to  the  group  at  parting,  and,  followed 
by  Hector,  was  very  soon  hidden  from  sight  in  the  neighbouring 
forest 


/ 


V 


CHAPTER  VI 

,  his  course,  pursue  him  to  the  la**, 
Hear  what  he  counsels,  note  thou  well  his  g 
For  the  untutored  eye  hath  its  own  truth. 
When  the  tongue  speaks  in  falsehood  " 

HARRISON,  followed  closely  by  his  slave,  silently  entered  the  forest, 
and  was  soon  buried  in  subjects  of  deep  meditation,  which,  hidden 
as  yet  from  us,  were  in  his  estimation  of  the  last  importance.  His 
elastic  temper  and  perceptive  sense  failed  at  this  moment  to  suggest 
to  him  any  of  those  thousand  objects  of  contemplation  in  which  he 
usually  took  delight.  The  surrounding  prospect  was  unseen—  Ihe 
hum  of  the  woods,  the  cheering  cry  of  bird  and  grasshopper,  equally 
unheeded ;  and  for  some  time  after  leaving  the  scene  and  acU,/B  of 
the  preceding  chapter,  he  continued  in  a  state  of  mental  abstrac 
tion,  which  was  perfectly  mysterious  to  his  attendant.  Hector 
though  a  slave,  was  a  favourite,  and  his  offices  were  rather  those  of) 
the  humble  companion  than  of  the  servant.  He  regarded  the  prej 
sent  habit  of  his  master  with  no  little  wonderment.  In  truth,  Har 
rison  was  not  often  in  the  mood  to  pass  over  and  disregard  the 
varieties  of  the  surrounding  scenery,  in  a  world  so  new  and  beau 
tiful,  as  at  the  present  moment  he  appeared.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  one  of  those  men,  of  wonderful  common  sense,  who  could  rea 
dily,  at  all  times,  associate  the  mood  of  most  extravagance  and  life 
with  that  of  the  most  every-day  concern.  Cheerful,  animated, 
playful,  and  soon  excited,  he  was  one  of  those  singular  combina 
tions,  which  attract  us  greatly  when  we  meet  with  them,  in  whom 
constitutional  enthusiasm  and  animal  life,  in  a  development  of 
extravagance  sometimes  little  short  of  madness,  are  singularly 
enough  mingled  up  with  a  capacity  equal  to  the  most  trying  requi 
sitions  of  necessity,  and  the  most  sober  habits  of  reflection.  Unu 
sually  abstracted  as  he  now  appeared  to  the  negro,  the  latter, 
though  a  favourite,  knew  better  than  to  break  in  upon  his  mood, 


48  THE    YEMASSEE. 

and  simply  kept  close  at  hand,  to  meet  any  call  that  might  be  made 
upon  his  attention.  By  this  time  they  had  reached  a  small  knoll 
of  green  overlooking  the  river,  which,  swollen  by  a  late  freshet, 
though  at  its  full  and  falling,  had  overflowed  its  banks,  and  now 
ran  along  with  some  rapidity  below  them.  Beyond,  and  down  the 
stream,  a  few  miles  off,  lay  the  little  vessel  to  which  we  have  already 
given  a  moment's  attention.  Her  presence  seemed  to  be  as  myste 
rious  in  the  eye  of  Harrison,  as,  previously,  it  had  appeared  to  that 
of  Sanutee.  Dimly  outlined  in  the  distance,  a  slender  shadow 
darkening  an  otherwise  clear  and  mirror-like  surface,  she  lay  sleep 
ing,  as  it  were,  upon  the  water,  not  a  sail  in  motion,  and  no  gridy 
ensign  streaming  from  her  tops. 

"  Hector,"  said  his  master,  calling  the  slave,  while  he  threw 
himself  lazily  along  the  knoll,  and  motioned  the  negro  near  him  : 
"Hector." 

"  Yes,  sah — Maussa.'1 

"  You  marked  that  sailor  fellow,  did  you,  Hector  T 

'*  I  bin  see  urn,  Maussa," 

u  What  is  he ;  what  do  you  think  of  him  ?" 

u  I  tink  notin  bout  'em,  sah. — Nebber  see  'em  afore — no  like  h* 
look." 

"  Nor  I,  Hector — nor  I.  He  comes  for  no  good,  and  we  must  see 
to  him." 

"  I  tink  so,  Maussa."  ^ 

"  Now — look  down  the  river.  When  did  that  strange  vessel 
come  up  ?" 

u  Nebber  see  'em  till  dis  morning,  Maussa,  but  speck  he  come  «p 
yesserday.     Mass  Nichol,  de  doctor,  wha'  talk  so  big — da  him  fuss 
show  'em  to  me  dis  morning." 
'"What  said  Nichols?" 

"  lie  say  'tis  English  ship ;  den  he  say  'tis  no  English,  'tis  Dutch 
-  -but  soon  he  change  he  min',  and  say  'tis  little  Dutch  and  little 
Spaniard  :  after  dat  he  make  long  speech  to  young  Mass  Hugh 
Gray  son." 

u  What  said  Gray  son?" 

/'  He  laugh  at  de  doctor,  make  de  doctor  cross,  and  den  he  CUM 
tpr  a  d — m  black  rascal." 


v  THE    YEMASSEE.  49 

"  That  made  you  cross  too,  eh  ?" 

"  Certain,  Maussa ;  'cause  Mass  Nichol  liab  no  respectability  for 
nigger  in  'em," and  talk  widout  makeNproper  osservation." 

™Well,  no  matter.  But  did  Grayson  say  anything  about  the 
vessel ?" 

"lie  look  at  'em  long  time,  pah,  but  he  nebber  say  noting;  but 
wid  long  stick  he  write  letter  in  de  sand.  Dat  young  Grayson, 
Mass  Charles — he  strange  gentleman — berry  strange  gentleman." 

"  How  often  must  I  tell  you,  Hector,  not  to  call  me  by  any  name      » 
here  but  Gabriel  Harrison  ?  will  you  never  remember,  you  scoundrel  ?"  V 

*'  Ax  pardon,  Maussa — 'member  next  time." 

"  Do  so,  old  boy,  or  we  quarrel :— -^nd  now,  hark  you,  Hector, 
since  you  know  nothing  of  this  vessel,  I'll  make  you  wiser.  Look 
down  over  to  Moccasin  Point — under  the  long  grass  at  the  edge, 
and  half  covered  by  the  Canes,  and  tell  me  what  you  see  there." 

"  Da  boat,  Maussa. — I  swear  da  boat.     Something  dark  lie  in  de 
,  bottom." 

"  That  is  a  boat  from  the  vessel,  and  what  you  see  lying  dark  in 
the  bottom,  are  the  two  sailors  that  rowed  it  up.  That  sailor- 
follow  came  in  it,  and  he  is  the  captain.  Now,  what  does  he  come 
for,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Speck,  sa,  he  come  for  buy  skins  from  de  Injins." 

"  No  : — that  craft  is  no  trader.  She  carries  guns,  but  conceals 
them  with  box  and  paint.  She  is  built  to  run  and  fight,  not  to 
carry.  I  looked  on  her  closely  this  morning.  Her  paint  is  Spa 
nish,  not  English.  Besides,  if  she  were  English,  what  would  she 
be  doing  here?  Why  run  up  this  river,  without  stopping  at 
Charleston  or  Port  Royal — why  keep  from  the  landing  here, 
avoiding  the  whites;  and  why  is  her  officer  pushing  up  into  the 
Indian  country  beyond  our  purchase  ?" 

"  He  hab  'ting  for  sell  de  Injins,  I  speck,  Maussa." 

"  Scarcely — they  have  nothing  to  buy  with ;  it  is  only  a  few 
days  since  Granger  came  up  from  Port  Royal,  where  he  had  car 
ried  all  the  skins  of  their  last  great  hunt,  and  it  will  be  two  weeks 
at  least  before  they  go  on  another.  No — no.  They  get  from  us  what 
we  are  willing  to  sell  them ;  and  this  vessel  brings  them  those  tilings 
which  they  cannot  get  from  us — fire-arms  and  ammunition,  Hector." 


60  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  You  link  so,  Maussa." 

"  You  shall  find  out  for  both  of  us,  Hector.    Are  your  eyes  open  ?" 
"  Yes,  Maussa,  I  kin  sing  like  mocking  bird,"    ....   and  the 
fellow  piped  up  cheerily,  as  he  spoke  in  a  familiar  negro  doggrel. 

" '  Possum  up  a  gum-tree 
Racoon  in  de  hollow, 
In  de  grass  de  yellow  snake, 
In  de  clay  de  swallow.' " 

"  Evidence  enough.  Now,  hear  me.  This  sailor  fellow  comes 
from  St.  Augustine,  and  brings  arms  to  the  Yemassees.  I  know  it, 
else  why  should  he  linger  behind  with  Sanutee  and  Ishiagaska, 
after  his  quarrel  with  the  old  chief,  unless  he  knew  of  something 
which  must  secure  his  protection  ?  I  saw  his  look  of  recognition 
to  Ishiagaska,  although  the  savage,  more  cunning  than  himself, 
kept  his  eye  cold — and — yes,  it  must  be  so.  You  shall  go,"  said 
his  master,  hah  musingly,  half  direct.  "You  shall  go.  When 
did  Granger  cross  to  Pocota-ligo  ? " 

"  Dis  morning,  Maussa." 

"  Did  the  commissioners  go  with  him  ? " 

"  No,  sah  :  only  tree  gentlemans  gone  wid  him."  "* 

"  Who  were  they  ? " 

"Sa  Edmund  Bellinger,  who  lib  close  'pon  Asheepoh — Mas? 
Steben  Latham,  and  nodder  one — I  no  hab  he  name." 

"  Very  well — they  will  answer  well  enough  for  commissioners 
Where  have  you  left  Dugdale  ? " 

"  I  left*  um  wid  de  blacksmith, — him  dat  lib  down  pass  de  Chief 
Bluff." 

"  Good ;  and  now,  Hector,  you  must  take  the  track  after  this 
sailor." 

"  Off  hand,  Maussa  ? " 

"  Yes,  at  once.  Take  the  woods  here,  and  make  the  sweep  of 
the  cypress,  so  as  to  get  round  them.  Keep  clear  of  the  river,  for 
that  sailor  will  make  no  bones  of  carrying  you  off  to  St.  Augus 
tine,  or  to  the  West  Indies,  if  he  gets  a  chance.  Watch  if  he 
goes  with  the  Indians.  See  all  that  you  can  of  their  movements. 


THE   YEMASSEE.  51 

and  let  them  not  see  you.     Should  they  find  you  out,  be  as  stupid 
a.s  a  pine  stump."  y 

"  And  whay  I  for  fin*  you,  Maussa,  when  I  come  back  ?  At  de 
parson's,  I  speck." — The  slave  smiled  knowingly  as  he  uttered  the 
last  member  of  the  sentence,  and  looked  significantly  into  the  face 
of  his  master,  with  a  sidelong  glance,  his  mouth  at  the  same  time 
showing  his  full  white  array  of  big  teeth,  stretching  away  like 
those  of  a  shark,  from  ear  to  ear. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  his  master,  quietly^and  without  seeming  to 
observe  the  peculiar  expression  of  his  servant's  face — "  perhaps  so, 
if  you  come  back  soon.  I  shall  be  there  for  a  while  ;  but  to-night 
you  will  probably  find  me  at  the  Block  House.  Away  now,  and 
see  that  you  sleep  not ;  keep  your  eye  open  lest  they  trap  you." 

"Ha,  Maussa.  Dat  eye  must  be  bright  like  de  moon  for  trap 
Hector." . 

"I  hope  so — keep  watchful,  for  if  that  sailor- fellow  puts  hands j 
upon  you,  he  will  cut  your  throat  as  freely  as  he  did  the  dog's,! 
and  probably  a  thought  sooner." 

Promising  strict  watchfulness,  the  negro  took  his  way  back  into 
the  woods,  closely  following  the  directions  of  his  master.  Har 
rison,  meanwhile,  having  dispatched  this  duty  so  far,  rose  buoy 
antly  from  the  turf,  and  throwing  aside  the  sluggishness  which  for 
the  last  half  hour  had  invested  him,  darted  forward  in  a  fast  walk  in 
the  direction  of  the  white  settlements  ;  still,  however,  keeping  as 
nearly  as  he  might  to  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  still  with  an  eye 
that  closely  scanned  at  intervals  the  appearance  of  the  little  vessel 
which,  as  we  have  seen,  had  dccasioned  so  much  doubt  and 
inquiry.  It  was  not  often  that  a  vessel  of  her  make  and  size  had 
been  seen  up  that  little  insulated  river ;  and  as,  from  the  know 
ledge  of  Harrison,  there  could  be  little  or  no  motive  of  trade  for 
such  craft  in  that  quarter — the  small  business  intercourse  of  the 
whites  with  the  Indians  being  soon  transacted,  and  through 
mediums  far  less  imposing — the  suspicions  of  the  Englishman 
were  justified  and  not  a  little  excited,  particularly  as  he  had 
known  for  some  time  the  increasing  discontent  among  the  savages. 
The  fact,  too,  that  the  vessel  was  a  stranger,  and  that  her  crew  and 
captain  had  kept  studiously  aloof  from  the  whites,  and  had  sent 


62  THE    YEMAS3EE. 

their  boat  to  land  at  a  point  actually  within  the  Indian  boundary, 
was,  of  itself,  enough  to  prompt  the  most  exciting  surmises.  The 
ready  intelligence  of  Harrison  at  once  associated  the  facts  with  a 
political  object ;  and  being  also  aware,  by  previous  information, 
that  Spanish  guarda-costas,  as  the  cutters  employed  at  St.  Augus 
tine  for  the  protection  of  the  coast  were  styled,  had  been  seen  to 
put  into  almost  every  river  and  creek  in  the  English  territory,  from 
St.  Mary's  to  Hatteras,  and  within  a  recent  period,  the  connected 
circumstances  were  well  calculated  to  excite  the  scrutiny  of  all 
well-intentioned  citizens. 

The  settlement  of  the  English  in  Carolina,  though  advancing 
with  wonderful  rapidity,  was  yet  in  its  infancy ;  and  the  great 
jealousy  which  their  progress  had  occasioned  in  the  minds  of  their 
Indian  neighbours,  was  not  a  little  stimulated  in  its  tenour  and 
development  by  the  artifices  of  the  neighbouring  Spaniards,  as  well 
of  St.  Augustine  as  of  the  Island  of  Cuba.  The  utmost  degree 
of  caution  against  enemies  so  powerful  and  so  easily  acted  upon, 
was  absolutely  necessary ;  and  we  shall  comprehend  to  its  full,  the 
extent  of  this  conviction  among  the  colonists,  after  repeated  suffer 
ings  had  taught  them  providence,  when  we  learn  from  the 
historians  that  it  was  not  long  before  this  when  the  settlers  upon 
the  *}oast  were  compelled  to  gather  oysters  for  their  subsistence 
wit'  one  hand,  while  carrying  fire-arms  in  the  other  for  ftieir  pro 
tection.  At  this  time,  however,  unhappily  for  the  colony,  such  a 
degree  of  watchfulness  was  entirely  unknown.  Thoughtless  as 
ever,  the  great  mass  is  always  slow  to  note  the  premonitions  and 
evidences  of  c*hange  which  are  at  all  times  going  on  around  them. 
The  courisellings  of  nature  and  of  experience  are  seldom  heeded  by 
the  inconsiderate  multitude,  until  their  omens  are  realized,  and 
then  when  it  is  beyond  the  control  which  would  have  converted 
them  into  agents,  with  the  almost  certain  prospect  of  advantageous 
results.  It  is  fortunate,  perhaps,  for  mankind,  that  there  are  some 
few  minds  always  in  advance,  and  for  ever  preparing  the  way  for 
society,  even  sacrificing  themselves  nobly,  that  the  species  may  have 
victory.  Perhaps,  indeed,  patriotism  itself  would  lack  something 
of  its  stimulating  character,  if  martyrdom  did  not  follow  its  labour* 
and  its  love  fc  r  man. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  58 

V 

Harrison,  active  in  perceiving,  decisive  m-  providing  against 
events,  with  a  sort  of  intuition,  had  traced  out  a^crowd  of  circum 
stances,  of  most  imposing  character  and  number,  in  the  events  01 
the  time,  of  which  few  if  any  in  the  Colony  besides  himself,  had 
any  idea.  lie  annexed  no  small  importance  to  the  seeming  trifle  ; 
and  his  mind  was  deeply  interested  in  all  the  changes  going  on  in 
the  province.  Perhaps,  it  was  his  particular  charge  to  note  these 
things — his  station,  pursuit — his  duty,  which,  by  imposing  upon 
him  some  of  the  leading  responsibilities  of  the  infant  society  in 
which  he  lived,  had  made  him  more  ready  in  such  an  exercise  than 
was  common  among  those  around  him.  On  this  point  we  can  now 
say  nothing,  being  as  yet  quite  as  ignorant  as  those  who  go  along 
with  us.  As  we  proceed  we  shall  probably  all  grow  wiser. 

While  Harrison  thus  rambled  downwards^along  the  river's  banks, 
a  friendly  voice  hallooed  to  him  from  its  bosom,  where  a  pettiauger, 
urged. by  a  couple  of  sinewy  rowers,  was  heaving  to  the  shore. 

"  Halloo,  captain,"  cried  one  of  the  men — "  I'm  so  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  Ah,  Grayson,"  he  exclaimed  to  the  one,  "  how  do  you  fare  ?'? 
— to  the  other,  "Master  Hugh,  I  give  you  o-ood  day.  " 

The  two  men  were  brothers,  and  the  difference  made  in 
Harrison's  address  between  the  two  simply  indicated  the  different 
degrees  of  intimacy  between  them  and  himself. 

"We've  been  hunting,  captain,  and  have  had  glorious  sport," 
said  the  elder  of  the  brothers,  known  as  Walter  Grayson — "  two 
fine  bucks  and  a  doe.  We  put  them  up  in  a  twinkling  ;  had  a  smart 
drive,  and  bagged  our  birds  at  sight.  Not  a  miss  at  any.  And 
here  they  are.  Shall  we  have  you  to  sup  with  us  to-night  ?" 

"  Hold  me  willing,  Grayson,  but  not  ready.  I  have  "labours  for 
to-night  will  keep  me  from  you.  But  I  shall  tax  youi  hospitality 
before  the  venison's  out.  Make  my  respects  to  the  old  lady,  your 
mother ;  and  if  you  can  let  me  see  you  at  the  Block  House  to-morrow, 
early  morning,  do  so,  and  hold  me  your  debtor  fof  good  service." 

"  I  will  be  there,  captain,  God  willing,  and  shall  do  as  you  ask. 
I  am  sorry  you  can't  come  to-night." 

"So  am  not  I,"  said  the  younger  Grayson,  as,  making  hi* 
acknowledgments  and  iHrewell,  Harrison  pushed  out  of  sight  and 


64  THE     YEMASSEE. 

re  entered  the  forest.  The  boat  touched  the  shore,  aud  the  brothers 
leaped  out,  pursuing  their  talk,  and  taking  out  their  game  as  they 
did  so. 

"  So  am  not  I,"  repeated  the  younger  brother,  gloomily : — "  I 
would  see  as  little  of  that  man  as  possible." 

"  And  why,  Hugh  ?  In  what  does  he  offend  you  ?"  was  the 
inquiry  of  his  companion. 

"  I  know  not — but  he  does  offend  me,  and  I  hate  him,  thoroughly 
hate  him." 

"  And  wherefore,  Hugh !  what  has  he  done — what  said  ?  You 
have  seen  but  little  of  him  to  judge.  Go  with  me  to-morrow  to  the 
Block  House — see  him — talk  with  him.  You  will  find  him  a  noble 
gentleman." 

And  the  two  brothers  continued  the  subject  while  moving  home 
ward  with  the  spoil. 

"  I  would  not  see  him,  though  I  doubt  not  what  you  say.  1 
would  rather  that  my  impressions  of  him  should  remain  as  they 
are." 

"  Hugh  Grayson — your  perversity  comes  from  a  cause  you  would 
blush  that  I  should  know — you  dislike  him,  brother,  because  Bess 
Matthews  does  not." 

The  younger  brother  threw  from  his  shoulder  the  carcase  of  the 
deer  which  he  carried,  and  with  a  broken  speech,  but  a  fl&rce  look 
and  angry  gesture,  confronted  the  speaker. 

"  Walter  Grayson — you  are  my  brother — you  are  my  brother ; — 
but  do  not  speak  on  this  subject  again.  I  am  perverse — I  am 
unreasonable,  perhaps  !  Be  it  so — I  c;innot  be  other  than  I  am  ; 
and,  as  you  love  me,  bear  with  it  while  you  may.  But  urge  me  no 
more  in  this  matter.  I  cannot  like  that  man  for  many  reasons,  and 
not  the  least  of  these  is,  that  I  cannot  so  readily  as  yourself  acknow 
ledge  his  superiority,  while,  perhaps,  not  less  than  yourself,  I  cannot 
help  but  feel  it.  My  pride  is  to  feel  my  independence — it  is  for 
you  to  deeire  control,  were  it  only  for  the  connexion  and  the  sym 
pathy  which  it  brings  to  you.  You  are  one  of  the  million  who 
make  tyrants.  Go — worship  him  yourself,  but  do  not  call  upon 
me  to  do  likewise." 

**  Take  up  the  meat,  brother,  and  be  not  wroth  with  me.     We 


-    THE   YEMASSEE.  55 

v 

are  what  we  are.  We  are  unlike  each  other,  though  brothers,  and 
perhaps  cannot  help  it.  But  one  thing — nay,  above  all  things,  try 
and  remember,  in  order  that  your  mood  may  be  kept  in  subjection 
— try  and  remember  our  old  mother." 

A  few  more  words  of  sullen  dialogue  between  them,  and  the  two 
brothers  passed  into  a  narrow  pathway  leat^ng  to  a  cottage,  where, 
at  no  great  distance,  they  resided. 


CHAPTER    VII 

**  T«  m*y  not  with  a  word  define 

The  love  that  lightens  o'er  her  face, 
That  makes  her  glance  a  glance  divine, 

Fresh  caught  from  heaven,  its  native  plao*— 
And  in  her  heart  as  in  her  eye, 

A  spirit  lovely  as  serene — 
Makes  of  each  ch«rm  some  deity, 

Well  worshipp'd,  though  perhaps  unseen." 

THE  soft  sunset  of  April,  of  an  April  sky  in  Carolina,  lay  beau 
tifully  over  the  scene  that  afternoon.  Embowered  in  trees,  with  a 
gentle  esplanade  running  down  to  the  river,  stood  the  pretty  yet 
modest  cottage  in  which  lived  the  pastor  of  the  settlement,  JoliK 
Matthews,  his  wife,  and  daughter  Elizabeth.  The  dwelling  was 
prettily  enclosed  with  sheltering  groves — through  which,  at  spots 
here  and  there,  peered  forth  its  well  whitewashed  verandah.  The 
river,  a  few  hundred  yards  in  front,  wound  pleasantly^along, 
making  a  circuitous  sweep  just  at  that  point,  which  left  the  cottage 
upon  something  like  an  isthmus,  and  made  it  a  prominent  object 
10  une  eye  in  an  approach  from  either  end  of  the  stream.  The  site 
had  been  felicitously  chosen,  and  the  pains  taken  with  it  had  suffi 
ciently  improved  the  rude  location  to  show  how  much  may  be 
effected  by  art,  when  employed  in  arranging  the  toilet,  and  in 
decorating  the  wild  beauties  of  her  country  cousin.  The  house 
itseL'  was  rude  enough — like  those  of  the  region  generally — 
having  been  built  of  logs,  put  together  as  closely  as  the  material 
would  permit,  and  affording  only  a  couple  of  rooms  in  front,  to 
which  the  additional  shed  contributed-  two  more,  employed  as 
sleeping  apartments.  Having  shared,  however,  something  of  the 
whitewash  which  had  been  employed  upon  the  verandah,  the  little 
fabric  wore  a  cheerful  appearance,  which  proved  that  the  pains 
taken  with  it  had  not  been  entirely  thrown  away  upon  the  coarse 
material  of  which  it  had  been  constructed.  We  should  not  forget 


THE    YEMASSEE.  67 

to  mention  the  porch  or  portico  of  four  columns,  formed  of  slender 
pines  decapitated  for  the  purpose,  which,  having  its  distinct  roof, 
formed  the  entrance  through  the  piazzaJto  the  humble  cottage 
We  are  not  prepared  to  insist  upon  the  good  taste  of  this  addition, 
which  was  very  much  an  excrescence.  The  clustering  vines,  too, 
hanging  fantastically  over  the  entrance,  almost  forbidding  ingress, 
furnished  proof  enough  of  the  presence  and  agency  of  that  sweet 
nature,  which,  lovely  of  itself,  has  yet  an  added  attraction  when 
coupled  with  the  beauty  and  the  purity  of  woman. 

Gabriel  Ilarrison,  as  our  new  acquaintance  has  been  pleased  to 
style  himself^^vvas  seen  towards  sunset,  emerging  from  the  copse 
which  grew  alongside  the  river,  and  approaching  the  cottage. 
Without  scruple,  he  lifted  the  wooden  la&h  which  secured  the 
gate  of  the  little  paling  fence  running  around  it,  and  slowly  moved 
up  to  the  entrance.  His  approach,  however,  had  not  been  entirely 
unobserved.  A  bright  pair  of  eyes,  and  a  laughing,  young,  even 
girlish  face  were  peering  through  the  green  leaves  which  almost 
''covered  it  in.  As'the  glance  met  his  own,  the  expression  of  sober 
gravity  and  thoughtfulness  departed  from  his  countenance ;  and 
he  now  seemed  only  the  playful,  wild,  thoughtless,  and  gentle- 
natuced  being  she  had  been  heretofore  accustomed  to  regard 
him. 

"Ah,  Bess;  dear  Bess — still  the  same,  my  beauty;  still  the 
laughing,  the  lovely,  the  star-eyed — " 

"  Ilush,  hush,  you  noisy  and  wicked — not  so  loud ;  mother  is 
busily  engaged  in  her  evening  nap,  and  that  long  tongue  of  yours 
will  not  make  it  sounder." 

"A  sweet  warning,  Bess — but  what  then,  child?  If  we  talk 
not,  we  are  like  to  have  a  dull  time  of  it." 

"And  if  you  do,  and  she  wakes  without  having  her  nap  out,  we 
are  like  to  have  a  cross  time  of  it ;  and  so,  judge  for  yourself  which 
you  would  best  like." 

"  I'm  dumb, — speechless,  my  beauty,  as  a  jay  on  a  visit !  See 
now  what  you  will  lose  by  it." 

"What  shall  I  lose,  Gabriel?" 

"  My  fine  speeches — your  own  praise — no  more  eloquence  &nd 
sentiment?  My  tongue  and  your  ears  will  entirely  forget  their  old 

ft* 


68  THE   YEMASSEE. 

acquaintance ;  and  there  will  be  but  a  single  moae  of  keeping  any 
of  our  memories  alive." 

"  IIow  is  that--  what  mode  ?" 

"An  old  song  tells  us — 

"  'The  lips  of  the  dumb  may  speak  of  love, 
Though  the  words  may  die  in  a  kiss — 
And—'" 

"  Will  you  never  be  quiet,  Gabriel  ?" 

"  How  can  I,  with  so  much  that  is  disquieting  near  me  ?  Quiet, 
indeed, — why,  Bess,  I  never  look  upon  you — ay,  for  that  matter,  I 
never  think  of  you,  but  my  heart  beats,  and  my  veins  tingle,  and 
my  pulses  bound,  and  all  is  confusion  in  my  senses.  You  are  my 
disquiet,  far  and  near — and  you  know  not,  dear  Bess,  how  much  I 
have  longed,  during  the  last  spell  of  absence,  to  be  near,  and  again 
to  see  you." 

"  Oh,  I  heed  not  your  flattery.  Longed  for  me,  indeed,  and  so 
long  away.  Why,  where  have  you  been  all  this  while,  and  what 
is  the  craft,  Gabriel,  which  keeps  you  away  ? — am  I  never  to  know 
the  secret  ?" 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet,  sweetest ;  but  a  little  while,  my  most  impatient 
beauty ;  but  a  little  while,  and  you  shall  know  all  and  every 
thing." 

"  Shall  1 1  but,  ah  !  how  long  have  you  told  me  so — years,  I'm 
sure — " 

"  Scarcely  months,  Bess — your  heart  is  your  book-keeper." 

"  Well,  months — for  months  you  have  promised  me — but  a  little 
.vhile,  and  you  shall  know  all ;  and  here  I've  told  you  all  my 
secrets,  as  if  you  had  a  right  to  know  them." 

"  Have  I  not  ? — if  my  craft,  Bess,  were  only  my  secret — if  much 
that  belongs  to  others  did  not  depend  upon  it — if,  indeed,  success 
in  its  pursuit  were  not  greatly  risked  by  its  exposure — you  should 
have  heard  it  with  the  same  sentence  which  just  told  you  how  dear 
you  were  to  me.  But,  only  by  secresy  can  my  objects  be  success 
fully  accomplished.  Besides,  Bess,  as  it  concerns  others,  the  right 
to  yield  it,  even  to  such  sweet  custody  as  your  own,  is  not  with  me,* 

"  But,  Gabriel,  I  can  surely  keep  it  safely." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  5b 

"  How  can  you,  Bess — since,  as  a  dutiful  child,  you  are  bound 
to  let  your  mother  share  in  all  your  knowledge  ?  She  knows  of 
our  love  ?  does  she  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  and  she  is  glad  to  know — she  approves  of  it.  And 
so,  Gabriel — forgive  me  :  but  I  am  very  anxious — and  so  you  can't 
tell  me  what  is  the  craft  you  pursue  ?"  and  she  looked  very  per- 
uasive  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  fear  me,  Bess,  if  you  once  knew  my  craft,  you  would  discover 
that  our  love  was  all  a  mistake.  You  would  learn  to  unlove  much 
faster  than  you  ever  learned  to  love." 

"  Nonsense,  Gabriel — you  know  that  is  impossible." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Bess,  for  the  assurance  ;  but  are  you  sure 
— suppose  now,  that  I  were  a  pedler,  doing  the  same  business  with 
Granger,  probably  his  partner — only  think." 

"That  cannot  be — I  know  better  than  that — I'm  certain  it  is 
not  so." 

"  And  why  not,  my  Beautiful." 

"Have  done ! — and,  Gabriel,  cease  calling  me  nick-names,  or  I'll 
leave  you.  I  won't  suffer  it.  You  make  quite  too  free." 

"  Do  I,  Bess, — well,  I'm  very  sorry -*-but  I  can't  help  it,  half  the 
time,  I  assure  you.  It's  my  nature — I  was  born  so,  and  have  been 
so  from  the  cradle  up.  Freedom  is  my  infirmity.  It  leads  to  sad 
irreverences,  I  know.  The  very  first  words  I  uaeieQ,  were  so  many 
nicknames,  and  in  calling  my  own  papa,  would  you  believe  it,  I 
could  never  get  further  than  the  pap." 

"Obstinate — incorrigible  man  !" 

"Dear,  delightful,  mischievous  woman — .Yut,  ^ess,  by  what  are 
you  assured  I  am  no  trader  ?" 

"By  many  things,  Gabriel — by  look,  language,  gesture,  manner 
— your  face,  your  speech. — All  satisfy  me  thai  yen  are  no  trader, 
but  a  gentleman — like  the  brave  cavdi3rs  that  stood  by  King 
Charles." 

•'A  dangerous  comparison,  Bess,  if  your  old  Puritan  sire  could 
hear  it.  What !  the  daughter  of  the  grave  Pastor  Matthews 
thinking  well  of  the  cavaliers  of  Charlie  Stuart  ?  Shocking  ! — why, 
Bess,  let  him  but  guess  at  such  bad  taste  on  your  part,  he'll  be 
down  upon  you,  thirty  thousand  strong,  in  scolds  and  sermons." 


"0  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  LTush — don't  speak  of  papa  after  that  fashion.  It's  true,  he 
talks  hardly  of  the  cavaliers — and  I  think  well  of  those  he  talks 
ill  of; — so  much  for  vour  teaching,  Gabriel.  It  is  you  that  are  to 
blame.  But  he  loves  me  ;  and  that's  enough  to  make  me  respect 
his  opinions,  and  to  love  him,  in  spite  of  them." 

"You  think  he  loves  you,  Bess — and  doubtlessly  he  does,  as  who 
could  otherwise — but,  is  it  not  strange  that  he  does  not  love  you 
enough  to  desire  your  happiness?" 

"  Why,  so  he  does." 

"  How  can  that  be,  Bess,  when  he  still  refuses  you  to  me  ?" 

"  And  are  you  so  sure,  Gabriel,  that  his  consent  would  have  thai 
effect  ?  Would  it,  indeed,  secure  my  happiness  ?" 

The  maiden  made  the  inquiry,  slowly,  half  pensively,  half  play 
fully,  with  a  look  nevertheless  downcast,  and  a  cheek  that  showed 
a  blush  after  the  prettiest  manner.  Harrison  passed  his  arm 
about  her  person,  and  with  a  tone  and  countenance  something 
graver  than  usual,  but  full  of  tenderness,  replied  : — 

"  You  do  not  doubt  it  yourself,  dearest.  I'm  sure  you  do  not. 
Be  satisfied  of  it,  so  far  as  a  warm  affection,  and  a  thought  studious 
to  please  your  own,  can  give  happiness  to  mortal.  If  you  are  not 
assured  by  this  time,  no  word  from  me  can  make  you  more  so. 
True,  Bess — I  am  wild — perhaps  rash  and  frivolous — foolish,  and 
in  some  things  headstrong  and  obstinate  enough ;  but  the  love  for 
you,  Bess,  which  I  have  always  felt,  I  have  felt  as  a  serious  and 
absorbing  concern,  predominating  over  all  other  objects  of  my 
existence.  Let  me  be  at  the  wildest — the  waywardest — as  full  of 
irregular  impulse  as  I  may  be,  arid  your  name,  and  the  thought  of 
you,  bring  me  back  to  myself,  bind  me  down,  and  take  all  wilful- 
ness  from  my  spirit  It  ?s  true,  Bess,  true,  by  the  blessed  sunlight 
that  gives  us  its  smile  and  its  promise  while  passing  from  our  sight 
— but  this  you  .knew  before,  and  only  desired  its  re-assertion, 
because — " 

"  Because  what,  Gabriel  ?" 

"  Because  the  assurance  is  so  sweet  to  your  ears,  that  you  could 
not  have  it  too  often  repeated." 

**  Oh  abominable — thus  it  is,  you  destroy  all  the  grace  of  your 
pretty  speeches.  But  you  mistake  the  sex,  if  you  suppose  we  car* 


THE    YEMASSEE.  61 

•«i, 

for  your  vows  on  this  subject — knowing,  as  we  do,  that  )  ju  are 
compelled  to  love  us,  we  take  the  assurance  for  granted." 

"  I  grant  you  ;  but  the  case  is  yours  also.  Love  is  a  mutual  ne 
cessity  ;  and  were  it  not  that  young  hearts  are  still  old  hypocrites, 
the  general  truth  would  have  long  since  been  admitted ;  but — 

He  was  interrupted  at  this  point  of  the  dialogue — which,  in  spite 
of  all  the  warnings  of  the  maiden,  had  been  carried  on,  in  the 
warmth  of  its  progress,  somewhat  more  loudly  than  was  absolutely 
necessary — and  brought  back  to  a  perception  of  the  error  by  a  voice 
of  inquiry  from  within,  demanding  of  Bess  with  whom  she  spoke. 

"  With  Gabriel — with  Captain  Harrison — mother." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  bring  him  in  ?  Have  you  forgotten  your 
manners,  Bess  ?" 

"No,  mother,  but — come  in,  Gabriel,  come  in:" — and  as  she 
spoke  she  extended  her  hand,  which  he  passionately  carried  to  his 
lips,  and  resolutely  maintained  there,  in  spite  of  all  her  resistance, 
while  passing  into  the  entrance  and  before  reaching  the  apartment. 
The  good  old  dame,  a  tidy,  well-preserved  antique,  received  the 
visitor  with  regard  and  kindness,  and,  though  evidently  but  half 
recovered  from  a  sound  nap,  proceeded  to  chatter  with  him,  and  at 
him,  with  all  the  garrulous  freedom  of  one  who  saw  but  little  of 
the  world,  possessed  more  than  her  usual  share  of  the  curiosity  of 
the  sex,  and  exercised  the  natural  garrulity  of  age.  Harrison,  with 
that  playful  frankness  which  formed  so  large  a  portion  of  his  manner, 
and  without  any  effort,  had  contrived  long  since  to  make  himself  a 
friend  in  the  mother  of  his  sweetheart ;  and  knowing  her  Toible,  he 
now  contented  himself  with  provoking  the  conversation,  prompting 
the  choice  of  material,  and  leaving  the  tongue  of  the  old  lady  at  her 
own  pleasure  to  pursue  it :  he,  in  the  meanwhile,  contriving  that 
sort  of  chat,  through  the  medium  of  looks  and  glances  with  the 
daughter,  so  grateful  in  all  similar  cases  to  young  people,  and 
which,  at  the  same  time,  offered  no  manner  of  obstruction  to  the 
employment  of  the  mother.  It  was  not  long  before  Mr.  Matthews, 
the  pastor  himself,  made  his  appearance,  and  the  courtesies  of  his 
reception  were  duly  extended  by  him  to  the  guest  of  his  wife  and 
daughter ;  but  there  seemed  a  jxcnething  of  backwardness,  a 
repulsiveness  in  the  mannei  of  the  old  gentleman,  quite  repugnant 


62  THE    YEMASSEE. 

to  the  Labits  of  the  country,  and  not  less  so  to  the  feelings  of  Har 
rison.     For  a  brief  period,  indeed,  the  cold  deportment  of  the 
Pastor  had  the  effect  of  somewhat  freezing  the  warm  exuberant 
blood  of  the  cavalier,  arresting  the  freedom  of  his  speech, and  fling 
ing  a  chilling  spell  over  the  circle.     The  old  man  was  an  ascetic — 
i  stern  Presbyterian — one  of  the  ultra-nonconformists — and  not  a ' 
little  annoyed  at  that  period,  and  in  the  new  country,  by  the  course 
of  government,  and  plan  of  legislation  pursued  by  the  Proprietary 
Lords  of  the  province,  which,  in  the  end,  brought  about  a  revolu 
tion  in  Carolina,  resulting  in  the  transfer  of  their  colonial  rights  and 
the  restoration  of  their  charter  to  the  crown.     The  leading  proprie 
tors  were  generally  of  the  church  of  England,  and,  with  all  the 
bigotry  of  the  zealot,  forgetting,  and  in  violation  of  their  strict 
pledges,  given  at  the  settlement  of  the  colony — and  through  which 
they  made  the  acquisition  of  a  large  body  of  their  most  valuable 
population — not  to  interfere  in  the  popular  religion — they  proceeded, 
soon  after  the  colony  began  to  flourish,  to  the  establishment  of  a 
regular  church,  and,  from  step  to  step,  had  at  length  gone  so  far 
as  actually  to  exclude  from  all  representation  in  the  colonial  assem 
blies,  such  portions  of  the  country  as  were  chiefly  settled  by  other 
sects.     The  region  in  which  we  find  our  story,  shared  in  this  ex 
clusion  ;  and,  with  a  man  like  Matthews,  who  was  somewhat  stern 
of  habit  and  cold  of  temperament — a  good  man  in  his  way,  and  as 
the  world  goes,  but  not  an  overwise  one — a  stickler  for  small  things 
— wedded  to  old  habits  and  prejudices,  and  perhaps  like  a  very 
extensive  class,  one  who,  preserving  forms,  might  with  little  diffi 
culty  be  persuaded  to  throw  aside  principles — with  such  a  man  the 
native  acerbity  of  his  sect  might  be  readily  supposed  to  undergo 
vast  increase  and  exercise,  from  the  political  disabilities  thus  war 
ring  with  his  religious  professions.     He  was  a  bigot  himself,  and, 
/with  the  power,  would  doubtless  have  tyrannised  after  a  similar 
'  fashion.     The  world  within  him  was  what  he  could  take  in  with  his 
eye,  or  control  within  the  sound  of  his  voice.     He  could  not  be 
brought  to    understand  that  climates  and   conditions  should  be 
various,  and  that  the  popular  good,  in  a  strict  reference  to  the  mind 
of  man,  demanded  that  people  should  everywhere  differ  in  manner 
and  opiniou.     He  wore  clothes  after  a  different  fashion  from 


1HE    YEMASSEE.     ^=<  5 

arho  luled,  and  the  difference  was  vital;  but  he  perfectly  agieeci 
*ith  those  in  power  that  there  should  be  a  prescribed  standard  by 
which  the  opinions  of  all  persons  should  be  regulated ;  and  such  a 
point  as  this  forms  the  faith  for  which,  forgetful  all  the  while  of 
propriety,  not  less  than  of  truth,  so  many  thousands  are  ready  for 
the  stake  and  the  sacrifice.  But  though  as  great  a  bigot  as  any  of 
his  'neighbours,  Matthews  yet  felt  how  very  uncomfortable  it  was 
to  be  in  a  minority ;  and  the  persecutions  to  which  his  sect  had 
been  exposed  in  Carolina,  where  they  had  been  taught  to  look  for 
every  form  of  indulgence,  had  made  him  not  less  hostile  towards 
the  government  than  bitter  in  his  feelings  and  conduct  in  society 
to  those  who  were  of  the  ruling  party.  To  him,  the  bearing  of 
Harrison, — his  dashing,  free,  unrestrainable  carriage,  directly  ad 
verse  to  Puritan  rule  and  usage,  was  particularly  offensive  ;  and,  at 
this  moment,  some  newly  proposed  exactions  of  the  proprietors  in 
England,  having  for  their  object  something  more  of  religious  reform, 
had  almost  determined  many  of  the  Puritans  to  remove  from  the 
colony,  and  place  themselves  under  the  more  .gentle  and  inviting 
rule  of  Penn,  then  beginning  to  attract  all  eyes  to  the  singularly 
pacific  and  wonderfully  successful  government  of  his  establishment. 
Having  this  character,  and  perplexed  with  these  thoughts,  old  Mat 
thews  was'in  no  mood  to  look  favourably  upon  the  suit  of  Harrison. 
For  a  little  while  after  his  entrance  the  dialogue  was  constrained 
and  very  chilling,  and  Harrison  himself  grew  dull  under  its  influ 
ence,  while  Bess  looked  every  now  and  then  doubtfully,  now  to  her 
father  and  now  to  her  lover,  not  a  little  heedful  of  the  increased 
sternness  which  lowered  upon  the  features  of  the  old  man.  Some 
family  duties  at  length  demanding  the  absence  of  the  old  lady,  Bess 
took  occasion  to  follow  ;  and  the  circumstance  seemed  to  afford  the 
pastor  a  chance  for  the  conversation  which  he  desired. 

"  Master  Harrison,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  I  have  just  returned 
from  a  visit  to  Port  »toyal  Island,  and  from  thence  to  Charles 
ton." 

"  Indeed,  sir — I  was  told  you  had  been  absent,  but  knew  no4 
certainly  where  you  had  gone.  How  did  you  travel  ?" 

"  By  canoe,  sir,  to  Port  Royal,  and  then  by  Miller's  sjoop  U 
Charles'  V 


THE    YEMASSEE. 

•'  Did  you  find  all  things  well,  sir,  in  that  quarter,  and  was  there 
any  thing  from  England  1" 

"  All  things  were  well,  sir ;  there  had  been  a  vessel  with  settlers 
from  England  " 

"  What  news,  sir — what  news  ?" 

"  The  death  of  her  late  majesty,  Queen  Anne,  whom  God 
receive — " 

"  Amen  ! — but  the  throne — "  was  the  impatient  inquiry.  "The 
succession  ?" 

"  The  throne,  sir,  is  filled  by  the  Elector  of  Hanover — " 

"  Now  ni.'iy  I  hear  falsely,  for  I  would  not  heed  this  tale  ?  What 
—  was  there  no  struggle  for  the  Stuart — no  stroke  ? — now  shame 
on  the  people  so  ready  for  the  chain  ; — so  little  loyal  to  the  true 
sovereign  of  the  realm  !"  and  as  Harrison  spoke,  he  rose  with  a 
brow  deeply  wrinkled  with  thought  and  indignation,  and  paced 
hurriedly  over  the  floor. 

"  You  are  fast,  too  fast,  Master  Harrison  ;  there  had  been  strife, 
and  a  brief  struggle,  though,  happily  for  the  nation,  a  successless 
one,  to  lift  once  more  into  the  high  places  of  power  that  bloody 
aud  witless  family — the  slayers  and  the  persecutors  of  the  saints. 
But  thanks  be  to  the  God  that  breathed  upon  the  forces  of  the  foe. 
and  shrunk  up  their  sinews.  The  strife  is  at  rest  there  ;  but  when, 
oh  Lord,  shall  the  persecutions  of  thy  servants  cease  here,  even  in 
thy  own  untrodden  pi acesj" 

The  old  man  paused,  while,  without  seeming  to  notice  well  what 
he  had  last  said,  Harrison  continued  to  pace  the  floor  in  deep 
meditation.  At  length  the  pastor  again  addressed  him,  though  in 
a  different  tone  and  upon  a  very  different  subject. 

"  Master  Harrison,"  said  he,  "  I  have  told  thee  that  I  have  been 
to  Charleston — perhaps  1  should  tell  thee  that  it  would  have  been 
my  pleasure  to  meet  with  thee  there." 

"  Ihave  been  from  Charleston  some  weeks,  sir,"  was  the  some 
what  hurried  reply.  "  I  have  had  labours  upon  the  Ashepoo,  and 
even  to  the  waters  of  the  Savannah." 

"  I  doubt  not — I  doubt  not,  Master  Harrison,"  was  the  sobei 
response  ;  "  thy  craft  carries  thee  far,  and  thy  labours  are  manifold  ; 
but  what  is  that  craft,  Master  Harrison  ?  and,  while  I  have  it  upon 


THE    YEMASSEE.       ^=<  65 

my  lips,  let  me  say,  tfcat  it  was  matter  of  strange  surprise  in  my 
mind,  when  I  asked  after  thee  in  Charleston,  not  to  find  any  whole 
some  citizen  who  could  point  out  thy  lodgings,  or  to  whom  thy 
mere  name  was  a  thing  familiar.  Vainly  did  I  ask  after  thee — 
pone  sAid  for  ihee,  Master  Harrison  is  a  good  man  and  true,  and 
his  works  are  sound  and  sightworthy." 

"  Indeed — the  savages" — spoke  the  person  addressed,  with  a 
most  provoking  air  of  indifference — "and  so,  Mr.  Matthews,  your 
•curiosity  went  without  profit  in  either  of  those  places  ?" 

"  Entirely,  sir — and  I  would  even  have  sought  that  worthy  gen 
tleman,  Lord  Craven,  for  his  knowledge  of  thee,  if  he  had  aught  tc 
say,  but  that  he  was  gone  forth  upon  a  journey,"  replied  the  old 
gentleman,  with  an  air  of  much  simplicity. 

"  That  would  have  been  going  far  for  thy  curiosity,  sir — very 
far — and  it  would  be  lilting  a  poor  gentleman  like  myself  into 
undeserving  notice,  to  have  sought  for  him  at  the  hands  of  the 
Governor  Craven." 

"  Thou  speakest  lightly  of  my  quest,  Master  Harrison,  as,  indeed, 
it  is  too  much,  thy  wont  to  speak  of  all  other  things,"  was  the  grave 
response  of  Matthews ;  "  but  the  subject  of  my  enquiry  was  too 
important  to  the  wellbeing  of  my  family,  to.be  indifferent  to  me, 
and  this  provides  me  the  excuse  for  meddling  with  concerns  of  thine !" 

Harrison  paused  for  a  moment,  and  looked  steadfastly,  and  with 
something  like  affectionate  interest  in  the  face  of  the  old  man  ; 
and  for  a  moment  seemed  about  to  address  him  in  language  of 
explanation  ;  but  he  turned  away  hurriedly,  and  walking  across  the 
floor,  muttered  audibly — "  Not  yet !  not  yet !  not  yet  !  It  will  not 
ao  yet." 

"  What  will  not  do,  Master  Harrison.  If  thou  wouldst  speak 
thy  mind  freely,  it  were  wise." 

The  young  man  suddenly  resumed  his  jesting  manner. 

"  And  so,  sir,  there  were  no  Harrisons  in  Charleston — ncne  in 
Port  Royal  ?" 

••  Harrisons  there  were — " 

"  Tri:e,  true,  sir — "  said  Harrison,  breaking  in — "  true,  true — 
Harrisons  there  were,  but  none  of  them  the  true.  There  was  AC 
Gabriel  among  the  saints  of  those  places." 


66  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Speak  not  so  irreverently,  sir, — if  I  may  crave  so  much  from 
one  who  seems  usually  so  indifferent  to  my  desires,  however  regard 
ful  he  may  be  at  all  times  of  his  own." 

"  Not  so  seriously,  Mr.  Matthews,"  replied  the  other,  now  chang 
ing  his  tone  to  a  business-like  and  straightforward  character.  "  Not 
so  seriously,  sir,  if  you  please ;  you  are  quite  too  grave  in  this  mat 
ter,  by  half,  and  allow  nothing  for  the  ways  of  one  who,  perhaps, 
is  not  a  jot  more  extravagant  in  his,  than  you  are  in  yours.  Per 
mit  me  to  say,  sir,  that  a  little  more  plain  confidence  in  Gabriel 
Harrison  would  have  saved  thee  the  unnecessary  and  unprofitable 
trouble  thou  hast  given  thyself  in  Charleston.  I  know  well  enough, 
and  should  willingly  have  assured  thee  that  thy  search  after 
Gabriel  Harrison  in  Charleston  would  be  as  wild  as  that  of  the  old 
Spaniard  among  the  barrens  of  Florida  for  the  waters  of  an  eternal 
youth.  He  has  neither  chick  nor  child,  nor  friend  nor  servant, 
either  in  Charleston  or  in  Port  Royal,  and  men  there  may  not  well 
answer  for  one  whom  they  do  not  often  see  unless  as  a  stranger. 
Gabriel  Harrison  lives  not  in  those  places,  Master  Matthews." 

"  It  is  not  where  he  lives  not  that  I  seek  to  know — to  this  thou 
oast  spoken  only,  Master  Harrision — wilt  thou  now  condescend  to 
say  where  he  does  live,  where  his  name  and  person  may  be  known, 
where  his  dwelling  and  his  connexions  may  be  found — what  is  his 
craft,  what  his  condition  ?" 

"  A  different  inquiry  that,  Mr.  Matthews,  and  one  rather  more 
difficult  to  answer — now  at  least.  I  must  say  to  you,  sir,  as  I  did 
before,  when  first  speaking  with  you  on  the  subject  of  your  daugh 
ter,  that  I  am  of  good  family  and  connexions,  drive  no  servile  or 
dishonourable  craft — am  one  thou  shalt  not  be  ashamed  of — nei 
ther  thou  nor  thy  daughter  ;  and,  though  now  engaged  in  a  pur 
suit  which  makes  it  necessary  that  much  of  my  own  concerns  be 
kept  for  a  time  in  close  secrecy,  yet  the  day  will  come,  and  I  look 
for  it  to  come  ere  long,  when  all  shall  be  known,  and  thou  shalt 
have  no  reason  to  regret  thy  confidence  in  the  stranger.  For  the 
present,  I  can  tell  thee  no  more." 

•<rrhis  will  not  do  for  me,  Master  Harrison — it  will  not  serve  a 
•father.  On  &.n  assurance  so  imperfect,  I  cannot  risk  the  good  name 
and  the  happiness  of  my  child ;  and,  let  me  add  to  thee,  Master 


-THE    YEMASSEE.  67 

J  -< 

Ilarrison,  that  there  are  other  objections  which  gather  in  my  mind, 
hostile  to  thy  claim,  even  were  these  entirely  removed." 

"Ha!  what  other  objections,  sir?— speak." 

"  Many,  sir ;  nor  the  least  of  these,  thy  great  levity  of  speech 
and  manner,  on  all  occasions;  a  levity  which  is  unbecoming  in 
one  haying  an  immortal  soul,  arid  discreditable  to  one  of  thy  age." 

"  My  age,  indeed,  sir — my  youth,  you  will  surely  phrase  it  upon 
suggestion,  for  I  do  not  mark  more  than  thirty,  and  would  have 
neither  Bess  nor  yourself  count  upon  me  for  a  greater  experience 
of  years." 

"  It  is  unbecoming,  sir,  in  any  age,  and  in  you  shows  itself  quite 
too  frequently.  Then,  sir,  your  tone  and  language,  contemptuous 
of  many  things  which  the  lover  of  religion  is  taught  to  venerate, 
too  greatly  savour  of  that  ribald  court  and  reign  which  made 
merry  at  the  work  of  the  Creator,  and  the  persecution  of  his  crea 
tures,  and  drank  from  a  rich  cup  where  the  wine  of  drunkenness 
and  the  blood  ofj.be  saints  were  mixed  together  in  most  lavish 
profusion.  You  sing,  sir,  mirthful  songs,  and  sometimes,  though, 
perhaps,  not  so  often,  employ  a  profane  oath,  in  order  that  your 
speech — a  vain  notion,  but  too  common  among  thoughtless  and 
frivolous  persons — may,  in  the  silly  esteem  of  the  idle  and  the 
ignorant,  acquire  a  strong  and  sounding  force,  arid  an  emphasis 
which  might  not  be  found  in  the  meaning  and  sense  which  it 
would  convey.  Thy  common  speech,  Master  Harrison,  has  but  too 
much  the  ambition  of  wit  about  it — which  is  a  mere  crackling  of 
thorns  beneath  the  pot " 

"  Enough,  enough,  good  father  of  mine  that  is  to  be ;  you  have 
said  quite  enough  against  me,  and  more,  rest  you  thankful,  than  I 
shall  ever  undertake  to  answer.  One  reply,  however,  I  am  free  to 
make  you." 

"  I  shall  be  -pleased  to  hear  you,  sir." 

"  That  is  gracious,  surely,  on  the  part  of  the  accuser  : — and  now, 
sir,  let  me  say,  I  admit  the  sometime  levity,  the  playfulness  and 
the  thoughtlessness,  perhaps.  T  shall  undertake  to  reform  these, 
when  you  shall  satisfy  me  that  to  laugh  and  sing,  and  seek  and 
afford  amusement,  are  inconsistent  with  my  duties  either  to  the 
Creator  or  the  creature.  On  this  head,  permit  me  to  say  that  you 


68  THE   YEMASSEE. 

are  the  criminal,  not  me.  It  is  you,  sir,  and  your  sect,  that  are  the 
true  criminals.  Denying,  as  you  do,  to  the  young,  all  those  natu 
ral  forms  of  enjoyment  and  amusement  which  the  Deity,  speaking 
through  their  own  nature,  designed  for  their  wholesome  nurture, 
you  cast  a  shadow  over  all  things  around  you.  In  this  way,  sir, 
you  force  them  upon  the  necessity  of  seeking  for  less  obvious  and 
more  artificial  enjoyments,  which  are  not  often  innocent,  and  which 
are  frequently  ruinous  and  destructive.  As  for  the  irreverence  to 
religion,  and  sacred  things,  with  which  you  charge  me,  you  will 
suffer  me  respectfully  to  deny.  This  is  but  your  fancy,  reverend 
sir ;  the  fruit  of  your  false  views  of  things.  If  I  were  thus  irreve 
rent  or  irreligious  it  were  certainly  a  grievous  fault,  and  I  should 
be  grievously  sorry  for  it.  But  I  am  not  conscious  of  such  faults. 
I  have  no  reproaches  on  this  subject.  Your  church  is  not  mine  ; 
and  that  is  probably  a  fault  in  your  eyes  ;  but  I  offer  no  scorn  or 
disrespect  to  yours.  In  regard  to  manners  and  morals,  there  is  no 
doubt  something  to  be  amended,  in  my  case,  as  in  that  of  most  per 
sons.  I  do  not  pretend  to  deny  that  I  am  a  man  of  many  errors, 
and  perhaps  some  vices.  You  will  suffer  me  to  try  and  cure  these, 
as  worldly  people  are  apt  to  do,  gradually,  and  with  as  much  ease 
to  myself  as  possible.  I  am  not  more  fond  of  them,  I  honestly 
think,  than  the  rest  of  my  neighbours;  and  hope,  some  day,  to  be 
a  better  and  a  wiser  man  than  I  am.  That  I  shall  never  be  a 
Puritan,  however,  you  may  be  assured,  if  it  be  only- to  avoid  giving 
to  my  face  the  expression  of  a  pine  bur.  That  I  shall  never  love 
Cromwell  the  better  for  having  been  a  hypocrite  as  well  as  a  mur 
derer,  you  may  equally  take  for  granted  ;  and,  that  my  dress,  unlike 
your  own,  sir,  shall  be  fashioned  always  with  a  due  reference  to  my 
personal  becomingness,  you  and  I,  both,  may  this  day  safely  swear 
for.  These  are  matters,  Mr.  Matthews,  upon  which  you  insist  with 
too  much  solemnity.  I  look  upon  them,  sir,  as  so  many  trifles,  not 
worthy  the  close  consideration  of  thinking  men.  I  will  convince 
you,  before  many  days,  perhaps,  that  my  levity  does  not  unfit  me 
for  business — never  interferes  with  my  duties.  I  wear  it  as  I  do 
my  doublet;  when  it  suits  me  to  do  so,  I  throw  it  aside,  and  pro 
ceed,  soul  and  body,  to  the  necessity  which  calls  for  it.  Such,  sir, 
is  Gabriel  Harrison — the  person  for  whom  you  can  find  no  kin- 


(THE    YEMASSEE.  69 

X 

dred — no  sponsor  ;  an  objection,  perfectly  idle}  sir,  when  one  thing 
is  considered." 

Here  he  paused  somewhat  abruptly.     The  pastor  had  been  taken 
all  aback  by  the  cool  and  confident  speech  of  his  youthful  com 
panion,  whom  he  thought  to  have  silenced  entirely  by  the  history 
of  his  discoveries  in  Charleston — or  his  failure  to  discover.     lie 
knew  not  well   what  to  answer,  and  for  a  brief  and  awkward 
moment  was  silent  himself.     But,  with  an  effort  at  composure  and 
solemnity,  seizing  on  the  last  word  of  Harrison's  speech,  he  sai<!  — 
"  And  pray,  sir,  what  may  that  one  thing  be  ?" 
"  Why,  simply,  sir,  that  your  daughter  is  to  marry  Gabriel  Har- 
'ison  himself,  and  not  his  kindred." 

."  Let  Gabriel  Harrison  rest  assured  that  my  daughter  does  no 
rich  thing." 

".  Cha-no-sclonee,  as  the  Yemassees  say.  We  shall  see.  I  don't 
relieve  that.  Trust  not  your  vow,  Master  Matthews.  Gabriel 
Harrison  will  marry  your  daughter,  and  make  her  an  excellent 
husband,  sir,  in  spite  of  yon.  More  than  that,  sir,  I  will,  for  once, 
be  a  prophet  among  the  rest,  and  predict  that  you  too  shall  clasp 
hands  on  the  bargain." 
" Indeed  ! " 

"  Ay,  indeed,  sir.      Look  not  so  sourly,  reverend  sir,  upon  the 

matter.     I  am  bent  on  it.     You  shall  not  destroy  your  daughter's 

chance  of  happiness  in  denying  mine.      Pardon  me  if  my  phrase 

is  something  audacious.     I  have  been  a  rover,  and  my  words  come 

*  th  my  feelings — I  seldom  stop  to  pick  them.      I  love  B,ess,  and 

,1  sure  I   can   make  her  happy.      Believing  this,  and  believing 

o  that  you  shall  be  satisfied,  after  a  time,  with  me,  however  you 

wlike  my  name,  I  shall  not  suffer  myself  to  be  much  troubled  on 

me  score  of  your  refusal.    When  the  time  comes — when  I  can  see  my 

•ray  through  some  few  difficulties  now  before  me,  and  when  I  have 

'  fely  performed  other  duties,  I  shall  come  to  possess  myself  of 

my  bride — and,  as  I  shall  then  give  you  up  my  secret,  I  shall  look 

to  have  her  at  your  hands." 

"  We  shall  see,  sir,"  was  all  the  response  which  the  bewildered 
pastor  uttered  to  the  wild  visitor  who  had  thus  addressed  him. 
The  character  of  the  dialogue,  however,  did  not  seem  so  greatly 


70  THE     YEMASSEE. 

to  surprise  him,  as  one  might  have  expected.  He  appeared  to  b€ 
rather  familiar  with  some  of  the  peculiarities  of  his  companion, 
and  however  much  lie  might  object  to  his  seeming  recklessness, 
he  himself  was  not  altogether  insensible  to  the  manly  frankness 
which  marked  Harrison's  conduct  throughout.  The  conversatiOE 
had  now  fairly  terminated,  and  Harrison  seemed  in  no  humour  to 
continue  it  or  to  prolong  his  visit.  He  took  his  leave  accordingly. 
The  pastor  followed  him  to  the  door  with  the  stiff  formality  of  one 
who  appears  anxious  to  close  it  on  such  visitor  for  ever.  Harrison 
laughed  out  as  he  beheld  his  visage,  and  his  words  of  leave-taking 
were  as  light  and  lively  as  those  of  the  other  were  lugubrious  and 
solemn.  The  door  closed  upon  the  guest.  The  pastor  strode  back 
to  his  easy  chair  and  silent  meditations.  But  he  was  aroused  by 
v  Harrison's  return.  His  expression  of  faccf,  no  longer  laughing, 
was  now  singularly  changed  to  a  reflective  gravity. 

"Mr.  Matthews,"  said  he — "of  one  thing  let  me  not  forget  to 
counsel  you.     There  is  some  mischief  afoot  among  the  Yemassees. 
I  have  reason  to  believe   that  it  has   been   for  some  time  in  pro 
gress.      We  shall  not  be  long,  I  fear,  without  an  explosion,  and 
must  be  prepared.     The  lower  Block  House  would  be  your  safest 
retieat  in  case  of  time  being  allowed  you  for  flight ;    but  I  pray 
you  reject  no  warning,  and  take  the  first  Block  House  if  the  warn 
ing  be  short.     I  shall  probably  be  nigh,  however,  in  the  event  o 
danger,  and  though  you  like  not  the  name  of  Gabriel  Harrison,  it 
owner  has  some  ability,  and  wants  none  of   the  will  to  do  yo 
.  Be r vice." 

The  old  man  was  struck,  not  less  with  the  earnest  manner  of 
l he  speaker,  so  unusual  with  him,  than  with  his  language;  and 
with  something  more  of  deference  in  his  own  expression,  begged 
to  know  the  occasion  of  his  apprehensions. 

"  I  cannot  well  tell  you  now,"  said  the  other,  "  but  there  are 
reasons  enough  to  render  caution  advisable.  Your  eye  has  pro 
bably  before  this  beheld  the  vessel  in  the  river.  She  is  a  stranger, 
and  I  think  an  enemy.  But  as  we  have  net  the  means  of  contending 
with  her  now,  we  must  watch  her  well,  and  do  what  we  can  by 
stratagem.  What  we  think,  too,  must  be  thought  secretly ;  but 
to  you  1  may  say,  that  [  suspect  an  agent  of  tue  Spaniard  in  thai 


THE    YEMASSEE.  71 

vessel,  and  will  do  my  utmost  to  find  him  out.  I  know  that  sun 
dry  of  the  Yemassecs  have  been  for  the  first  time  to  St.  Augus 
tine,  and  they  have  come  home  burdened  with  gauds  and  gifts. 
These  are  not  given  for  nothing.  But,  enough — be  on  your  watch, 
to  give  you  more  of  my  confidence,  at  this  moment,  than  is  called 
for,  is  no  part  of  my  vocation." 

"  In  heaven's  name,  who  are  you,  sir  ? "  WES  the  earnest  ex 
clamation  of  the  old  pastor. 

Harrison  laughed  again  with  all  the  merry  mood  of  boyhood. 
In  the  next  moment  he  replied,  with  the  most  profound  gravitv  of 
expression,  "  Gabriel  Harrison,  with  your  leave,  sir,  and  the  future 
husband  of  Bess  Matthews." 

In  another  moment,  not  waiting  any  answer,  he  was  gone,  and 
looking  back  as  he  darted  down  the  steps  and'  into  the  avenue,  he 
caught  a  glance  of  the  maiden's  pye  peering  through  a  neighbour 
ing  window,  and  kissed  his  hand  to  her  twice  and  thrice ;  then, 
with  a  hasty  nod  to  the  wondering  father,  who  now  began  to 
regard  him  as  a  madman,  he  dashed  forward  through  the  gate,  and 
wafe  soon  upon  the  banks  of  the  river. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


;  The  nations  meet  in  league  — a  solemn  league, 
This  is  their  voice— this  their  united  pledge, 
For  all  adventure." 


SANTJTEE  turned  away  from  the  spot  whence  Harrison  had  de 
parted,  and  was  about  to  retire,  when  not  finding  himself  followed 
by  Ishiagaska,  and  perceiving  the  approach  of  the  sailor,  his  late  op 
ponent,  and  not  knowing  what  to  expect,  whether  peace  or  war,  he 
again  turned,  facing  the  two,  and  lifting  his  bow,  and  setting  his 
arrow,  he  prepared  himself  for  a  renewal  of  the  strife.  But  the 
voice  of  the  sailor  and  of  Ishiagaska,  at  the  same  moment,  reached 
his  ears  in  language  of  conciliation ;  and,  resting  himself  slightly 
against  a  tree,  foregoing  none  of  his  precautions,  however,  with  a 
cold  indifference  he  awaited  their  approach.  The  seaman  addressed 
him  with  all  his  usual  bluntness,  but  with  a  manner  now  very 
considerably  changed  from  what  it 'was  at  their  first  encounter. 
He  apologized  for  his  violence,  and  for  having  slain  the  dog.  Had 
he  known  to  whom  it  belonged,  so  he  assured  the  chief,  he  had  not 
been  so  hasty  in  despatching  it ;  and,  as  some  small  amends,  he 
begged  the  Indian  to  do  with  the  venison  as  he  thought  proper,  for  it 
was  now  his  own.  During  the  utterance  of  this  uncouth  apology, 
mixed  up  as  it  was  with  numberless  oaths,  Sanutee  looked  on 
and  listened  with  contemptuous  indifference.  When  it  was  done,  he 
simply  replied  — 

"  It  is  well  —  but  the  white  man  will  keep  the  meat :  —  it  is  not  for 
Sanutee." 

"Come,  come,  don't  be  ill-favoured  now,  old  warrior.  What's 
done  can't  be  undone,  and  more  ado  is  too  much  to  do.  I'm  sure  I'm 
sorry  enough  I  killed  the  dog,  but  how  was  I  to  know  he  belonged 
to  you  ?  " 

The  sailor  might  have  gone  on  for  some  time  after  this  fashion, 

72 


THE    YEMASSEE.  73 

had  not  Ishiagaska,  seeing  that  the  reference  to  his  dog  only  the 
more  provoked  the  ire  of  the  chief,  interposed  by  an  address  to  the 
sailor,  which  more  readily  commanded  Sanutee's  consideration. 

"The  master  of  the  big  canoe — is  he  not  the  chief  that  comes 
from  St.  Augustine  2  Ishiagaska  has  looked  upon  the  white  chief 
in  the  great  lodge  of  his  Spanish  brother." 

"  Ay,  that  you  have,  Indian,  I'll  be  sworn ;  and  I  thought  I 
knew  you  from  the  first.  I  am  the  friend  of  the  Spanish  governor, 
and  I  come  here  now  upon  his  business." 

"  It  is  good,"  responded  Ishiagaska — and  he  turned  to  Sanutee, 
with  whom,  for  a  few  moments,  he  carried  on  a  conversation  in 
their  own  language,  entirely  beyond  the  comprehension  of  the 
sailor,  who  nevertheless  gave  it  all  due  attention. 

"  Brings  the  master  of  the  big  canoe  nothing  from  our  Spanish 
brother  ?  Hides  he  no  writing  in  his  bosom  3"  was  the  inquiry  of 
Ishiagaska,  turning  from  Sanutee,  who  seemed  to  have  prompted 
the  inquiry. 

"  Writing  indeed — no — writing  to  wild  Indians."  The  last 
fragment  of  the  sentence  was  uttered  to  hiinse-f.  He  continued 
aloud,  "  Now,  I  have  brought  you  no  writing,  but  here  is  some^ 
thing  that  you  may  probably  understand  quite  as  well.  Here — 
this  is  what  I  have  brought  you.  See  if  you  can  read  it." 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  from  his  bosom  a  bright  red  cloth — a 
strip,  not  over  six  inches  in  width,  but  of  several  yards  in  length, 
worked  over,  at  little  intervals,  with  symbols  and  figures  of  every 
kind  and  of  the  most  fantastic  description — among  which  were 
birds  and  beasts,  reptiles,  and  insects,  rudely  wrought,  either  in 
shells  or  beads,  which,  however  grotesque,  had  yet  their  significa 
tion.  This  was  the  Belt  of  Wampum  which  among  all  tho  In 
dian  nations  formed  a  common  language,  susceptible  of  every 
variety  of  use.  By  this  instrument  they  were  taught  to  declare 
hostility  and  friendship,  war  and  peace.  Thus  were  their  treaties 
made  ;  and,  in  the  speeches  of  their  orators,  the  Belt  of  Wampum, 
given  at  the  conclusion  of  each  division  of  the  subject,  was  made 
to  asseverate  their  sincerity.  Each  tribe,  having  its  own  hiero 
glyphic,  supposed  or  assumed  to  be  especially  characteristic,  affixed 
its  totem,  or  sign  manual,  to  such  a  belt  as  that  brought  by  the 

J. 


74  THE    YEMASSEE. 

stranger ;  and  lliis  mode  of  signature  effectually  bound  it  to  the 
conditions  which  the  other  signs  may  have  expressed. 

The  features  of  the  chief,  Sauutee,  underwent  a  change  from  the 
repose  of  indifference  to  the  lively  play  of  the  wannest  interest, 
as  he  beheld  the  long  folds  of  this  document  slowly  unwind  before 
bis  eyes  ;  and,  without  a  word,  hastily  snatching  it  from  the  hands 
of  the  seaman,  he  had  nearly  brought  upon  himself  another  assault 
from  that  redoubted  worthy.  But  as  he  made  a  show  of  that  sort, 
Lshiagaska  interposed. 

*'  llow.do  I  know  that  it  is  for  him — that  treaty  is  for  the  chiefs 
of  the  Yemassees;  and  blast  my  eyes  if  any  but  the  chiefs  shall 
grapple  it  in  their  yellow  fingers." 

"  It  is  right — it  is  Sanutee,  the  great  chief  of  the  Yemassees ; 
and  is  not  Ishiagaska  a  chief?"  replied  the  latter,  impressively. 
The  sailor  was  somewhat  pacified,  and  said  no  more  ;  while  Sanu 
tee,  who  seemed  not  at  all  to  have  heeded  the  latter's  movement, 
went  on  examining  each  figure  upon  the  folds  of  the  Wanapurn, 
numbering  them  carefully  upon  his  fingers  as  he  did  so,  a,iid  con 
ferring  upon  their  characters  with  Tshiagaska,  whose  own  cariosity 
was  now  actively  at  work  along  with  him  in  the  examination.  Tn 
that  language,  which  from  their  lips  is  so  sweet  and  sonorous,  they 
conversed  together,  to  the  great  disquiet  of  the  seaman,  who  had 
no  less  curiosity  than  themselves  to  know  the  purport  of  the  in 
strument,  and  the  opinions  of  the  chiefs  upon  it.  Bui  he  under 
stood  not  a  word  they  said. 

"They  are  here,  Ishiagaska,  they  have  heard  the  speech  of  tha 
true  warrior,  and  they  will  stand  together.  Look,  this  green  bird 
is  for  the  Estatoe  ;*  he  will  sing  death  in  the  sleeping  ear  of  the 
pale  warrior  of  the  English." 

"  He  is  a  great  brave  of  the  hills,  and  has  long  worn  the  blanket 
of  the  Spaniard.  It  is  good,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  this  for  the  Cussoboe — it  is  burnt  timber.  They  took  the 
totem  from  the  Suwannee,  when  they  smoked  him  out  of  his  lodge. 
And  tl  is  for  the  Alataraaha,  a  green  i^af  of  the  summer,  for  the 
great  prophet  of  the  Alatamaha  never  dies,  and  looks  always  in 

*  \  tribe  of  the  Cherokees,  living  in  what  is  now  Pendleton  district 


THE    YEMASSEE.  75 

youth.  This  tree  snake  stands  for  the  Serannah ;  for  he  watches 
in  the  thick  top  of  the  bush  for  the  warrior  that  walks  blind  un 
derneath." 

"  I  have  looked  on  this  chief  in  battle — the  hill  chief  of  Apa- 
lachy.  It  was  the  fight  of  a  long  day,  when  we  took  scalps  from 
their  warriors,  and  slew  them  with  their  arms  about  our  necks. 
They  are  brave — look,  the  mark  of  their  knife  is  deep  in  the  cheek 
of  Ishiagaska." 

'*  The  hill  is  their  totem.  It  stands,  and  they  Pgverlio.  This  is 
the  wolf  tribe  of  the  Cherokee — and  this  the  bear's.  Look,  the 
Catawba,  that  laughs,  is  here.  He  speaks  with  the  trick-tongue 
of  the  Coonee-lattee  ;*  he  laughs,  but  he  can  strike  like  a  true 
brave,  and  sings  his  death-song  with  a  free  spirit." 

"  For  whom  tpeaks  the  viper-snake,  hissing  from  under  the 
bush  2" 

4<  For  the  Creek  warrior  with  the  sharp  tooth,  that  tears.  His 
tooth  is  like  an  arrow,  and  when  he  tears  away  the  scalp  of  his 
enemy,  he  drinks  a  long  drink  of  his  blood,  that  makes  him  strong. 
Thi»  is  their  totem — I  know  them  of  old ;  they  gave  us  sixty 
braves  when  we  fought  with  the  Glrick?*ahs." 

The  sailor  had  heard  this  dialogue  without  any  of  the  advan 
tages  possessed  by  us.  It  was  in  a  dead  language  to  him.  Be 
coming  impatient,  and  desiring  to  have  some  hand  in  the  business, 
lie  took  advantage  of  a  pause  made  by  Sanutee — who  now  seemed 
to  examine  with  Ishiagaska  more  closely  the  list  they  had  read 
out — to  suggest  a  more  rapid  progress  to  the  rest. 

""Roll  them  out,  chief ;  roll  them  out;  there  are  many  more 
yet  to  come.  Snakes,  and  trees,  and  birds,  and  beasts  enough  to 
people  the  best  show-stall  of  Europe." 

"It  is  good,"  said  Sanutee,  who  understood  in  part  what  '  e*  ' 
been  said  ;  and,  as  suggested,  the  Yemassee  proceeded   to  unfota 
the  wampum,  at  full  length,  though  now  he  exhibited  less  curiosity 
than  before.     The  residue  of  the  hieroglyphics  were  those  chiefly 


*  The  mocking-bird.  The  Catawbas  were  of  a  generous,  elastic,  ar.d 
Uvely  temperament,  and, until  the  Yemassee  outbreak,  usually  the  friend* 
of  the  Carolinians. 


76  THE    YEMASSEE. 

of  tribes  and  nations  of  which  he  had  been  previously  secure. 
He  continued,  however,  as  if  rather  for  the  stranger's  satisfaction 
than  his  own. 

"Here,"  said  he,  continuing  the  dialogue  in  his  own  language 
with  Ishiagaska,  "  here  is  the  Salutah*  that  falls  like  the  water. 
He  is  a  stream  from  the  rock.  This  is  the  Isundigaf  that  goes  on 
his  belly,  and  shoots  from  the  hollow — this  is  the  Sautee,  he  runs 
in  the  long  canoe,  and  his  paddle  is  a  cane,  that  catches  the  tree 
top,  and  thus  he  goes  through  the  dark  swamps  of  Serattaya.J 
The  Chickaree  stands  up  in  the  pine,  and  the  Winyah  is  here  in 
the  terrapin." 

"  I  say,  chief,"  said  the  sailor,  pointing  to  the  next  symbol, 
which  was  an  arrow  of  considerable  length,  and  curved  almost  to 
a  crescent,  "  I  say,  chief,  tell  us  what  this  arrow  means  here — I 
know  it  stands  for  some  nation,  but  what  nation  ?  and  speak  now 
in  plain  English,  if  you  can,  or  in  Spanish,  or  in  French,  which  I 
can  make  out,  but  not  in  that  d — d  gibberish  which  is  all  up  side 
down  and  in  and  out,  and  no  ways  at  all,  to  my  understanding." 

The  chief  comprehended  the  object  of  the  sailor,  though  less 
from  his  words  than  his  looks ;  and  with  an  elevation  of  head  and 
gesture,  and  a  fine  kindling  of  the  eye,  he  replied  proudly: 

"  It  is  the  arrow,  the  arrow  that  came  with  the  storm — it  came 
from  the  Manneyto  to  the  brave,  to  the  well-beloved,  the  old  father- 
chief  of  the  Yemassee." 

"Ah,  ha !  so  that's  your  mark — totem,  you  call  it  ?  Well,  it's  a 
pretty  long  thing  to  burrow  in  one's  ribs,  and  reminds  me  of  the 
fellow  to  it,  that  you  so  kindly  intended  for  mine.  But  that's  over 
now — so  no  more  of  it,  old  chief."  - 

|,  Neither  of  the  Indians  appeared  to  heed  the  speech  of  the  sailor. 
.  hey  were  too  much  interested  by  one  of  the  signs  which  now 
met  their  eyes  upon  the  belt,  and  which  they  did  not  seem  to  com 
prehend.  Sanutee  first  called  the  attention  of  his  brother  chief  to 
the  symbol,  and  both  were  soon  busy  in  eager  inquiry.  They 

*  Salutah,  now  written  Saluda,  and  signifying  Corn  river. 

f  Isundiga,  or  Savannah. 

t  Near  Nelson's  ferry  and  Scott's  lake  on  th«  Saute* 


TIJE    YEMASSEE.  7/ 

uttered  their  doubts  and  opinions  in  their  own  language  with  no 
little  fluency;  for  it  is  so  nething  of  a  popular  error  to  suppose 
the  Indian  that  taciturn  character  which  he  is  sometimes  repre 
sented.  He  is  a  gre^t  speech-riiaker,  and  when  serious  business 
Jnims  him  not,  is  exceedingly  fond  of  a  jest;  which,  by  the  way, 
is  net  often  the  purest  in  its  nature.  The  want  of  our  language  is 
a  very  natural  reason  why  he  should  be  sparing  of  his  words  when 
he  speaks  with  us,  and  a  certain  suspicious  reserve  is  the  conse 
quence  of  a  certain  awkward  sense  of  inferiority. 

The  bewilderment  of  the  chiefs  did  not  escape  the  notice  of  the 
sailor,  who  immediately  guessed  its  occasion.  The  symbol  before 
their  eyes  was  that  of  Spain ;  the  high  turrets,  and  the  wide 
towers  of  its  castellated  dominion,  frowning  in  gold,  and  finely 
embroidered  upon  the  belt,  directly  below  the  simpler  ensign  of  the 
Yemassees.  Explaining  the  mysiery  to  their  satisfaction,  the  con 
trast  between  its  gorgeous  embodiments  and  vaster  associations  of 
human  agency  and  power,  necessarily  influenced  the  imagination 
of  the  European,  while  wanting  every  thing  like  force  to  the  Indian, 
to  whom  a  lodge  so  vast  and  cheerless  in  its  aspect,  seemed  rather 
an  absurdity  than  any  thing  else;  arid  he  could  not  help  dilating 
upon  the  greatness  and  magnificence  of  a  people  dwelling  in  such 
houses. 

"  That's  a  nation  for  you  now,  chiefs — that  is  the  nation  after  all." 

"  The  Yemassee  is  the  nation,"  said  one  of  the  chiefs  proudly. 

"Yes,  perhaps  so,  in  this  part  of    the   world,  a  great  nation 
enough  ;  but  in  Europe  you  wouldn't  be  a  mouthful — a  mere  drop 
in  the  bucket — a  wounded  porpoise,  flirting  about  in  the  mighty 
seas  thaf  *nust  swallow  it  up.     Ah  !  it's  a  great  honour,  chiefs,  leti 
me  tell  you,  when  so  great  a  king  as  the  King  of  Spain  conde-j 
scends  to  make  a  treaty  with  a  wild  people  such  as  you  are  here."/ 

Understanding  but  little  of  all  this,  Sariutee  did  not  perceive  its 
disparaging  tendency,  but  simply  pointing  to  the  insignia,  inquired — 

"  It  is  the  Spanish  totem  ;" 

*'  Ay,  it's  their  sign — their  arms — if  that's  what  you  mean  by 
totem.  It  was  a  long  time  before  the  Governor  of  Saint  Augus 
tine  could  get  it  done  after  your  fashion,  till  an  old  squaw  of  the 
Cherokee*  fix«d  it  op,  and  handsomely  enough  she  has  done  it  too. 


78  THE    YEMASSEE. 

And  now,  chiefs,  the  sooner  we  go  to  work  the  better.  The 
governor  has  put  his  hand  to  the  treat;',  he  will  find  the  arms,  and 
you  the  warriors." 

"The  Yemassee  will  speak  to  the  governor,"  said  Sanutee. 

"  You  will  have  to  go  to  Saint  Augustine,  th  ?n,  for  he  has  sent 
me  in  his  place.  I  have  brought  the  treaty,  and  the  arms  are 
in  my  vessel  ready  for  your  warriors,  whenever  the/  are  ready  to 
sound  the  warwhoop." 

"Does  Sanutee  speak  to  a  chief?" 

"  Ay,  that  he  does,  or  my  name  is  not  Richard  Chorley.  I  am 
a  sea  chief,  a  chief  of  the  great  canoe,  and  captain  of  as  pretty  a 
crew  as  ever  riddled  a  merchantman." 

"  I  see  not  the  totem  of  your  tribe." 

"  My  tribe  ?"  said  the  sailor  laughingly — "  My  crew,  you  mean. 
Yes,  they  have  a  totem,  and  as  pretty  a  one  as  any  on  your  roll. 
There,  look,"  said  he,  and  a.s  he  spoke,  rolling  up  his  sleeve,  he 
displayed  a  huge  anchor  upon  his  arm,  done  in  gunpowder.  This 
was  the  sort  of  writing  which  they  could  understand.  That  it  was 
worked  on  the  body  of  the  sailor,  worked  into  his  skin,  was  mak 
ing  the  likeness  more  perfect,  and  the  bearing  of  the  red  chief? 
towards  the  sea  captain  became  in  consequence  more  decidedly 
favourable. 

"  And  now,"  said  Chorley,  "  it  is  well  I  have  some  of  my  marks 
about  me,  for  I  can  easily  put  my  signature  to  that  treaty  without 
scrawl  of  pen,  or  taking  half  the  trouble  that  it  must  have  given 
the  worker  of  these  beads.  But,  hear  me,  chiefs,  I  don't  work  for 
nothing ;  I  must  have  my  pay,  and  as  it  don't  come  out  of  your 
pockets,  I  look  to  have  no  refusal." 

"  The  chief  of  the  great  canoe  will  speak." 

"  Yes,  and  first  to  show  that  I  mean  to  act  as  well  *s  speak,  here 
is  my  totem — the  totem  of  my  crew  or  tribe  as  you  call  it.  I  put 
it  on,  and  trust  to  ha\e  fair  play  out  of  you."  As  he  spoke,  be 
took  from  his  pocket  a  small  leaden  ancrcr,  such  as  are  now-a-uaya 
numbered  among  the  playthings  of  children,  but  Avhich  at  that 
period  made  no  unfrequent  ornament  to  the  searran's  jacket.  A 
thorn  from  a  neighbouring  branch  secured  it  to  the  wampum,  and 
the  engagement  of  the  aea  chief  was  dulv  ratified.  Having  don« 


THE    YEMASSEE.  79 

this,  he  proceeded  to  unfold  his  expectations.  He  claimed,  arnong'v 
other  things,  in  consideration  of  the  service  of  himself  and  thel 
fifteen  men  whom  he  should  command  in  the  insurrection,  the  pos< 
session  of  all  slaves  who  should  be  taken  by  him  from  the  Caro-j 
linians;  and  that,  unless  they  offered  resistance,  they  should  notly 
slain  in  the  war. 

"  I  don't  want  belter  pay  than  that,"  said  he,  "  but  that  I  must 
and  will  have,  or  d — n  the  blow  I  strike  in  the  matter." 

The  terms  of  the  seaman  had  thus  far  undergone  development, 
when  Sanutee  started  suddenly,  and  his  eyes,  lightening  seemingly 
with  some  new  ii-terest,  were  busied  in  scrutinizing  the  little  circuit 
of  wood  on  the  edge  of  which  their  conversation  had  been  carried  on. 
Ishiagaska  betrayed  a  similar  consciousness  of  an  intruders  pre 
sence,  and  the  wampum  belt  was  rolled  up  hurriedly  by  one  of  the 
chiefs,  while  the  other  maintained  his  watchfulness  upon  the  brush 
from  whence  the  interruption  appeared  to  come.  There  was  some 
reason  for  the  alarm,  though  the  unpractised  sense  of  the  white 
man  had  failed  to  perceive  it.  It  was  there  that  our  old  acquaint 
ance,  Hector,  despatched  as  a  spy  upon  the  progress  of  those 
whom  his  master  suspected  to  be  engaged  in  mischief,  had  sought 
concealment  while  seeking  his  information.  Unfortunately  for  the 
black,  as  he  crept  along  on  hands  and  knees,  a  fallen  and  some 
what  decayed  tree  lay  across  his  path,  some  of  the  branches  of 
which  protruded  entirely  out  of  the  cover,  and  terminated  within 
sight  of  the  three  conspirators,  upon  the  open  plain.  In  crawling, 
cautiously  enough,  over  the  body  of  the  tree,  the  branches  thus 
exposed  were  agitated,  and,  though  but  slightly,  yet  sufficiently  for 
the  keen  sight  of  an  Indian  warrior.  Hector,  all  the  while  igno 
rant  of  the  protrusion  within  their  gaze  of  the  agitated  members — 
in  his  anxiety  to  gain  more  of  the  latter  words  of  the  sailor,  so  in 
teresting  to  his  own  color,  and  a  portion  of  which  had  met  hi 
ear — incautiously  pushed  forward  over  the  tree,  crawling  all  the 
way  like  a  snake,  and  seeking  to  shelter  himself  in  a  little  clump 
that  interposed  itself  between  him  and  those  he  was  approaching. 
As  he  raised  his  head  above  the  earth,  he  beheld  the  glance  of 
Sanutee  fixed  upon  the  very  bush  behind  which  he  lay  ;  the  bow 
uplifted,  and  his  eye  ranging  from  stem  to  point  of  the  long:  arrow 


80  THE    YEMASSEE. 

In  a  moment  the  negro  sunk  to  the  level  of  the  ground ;  but,  in 
doing  so  precipitately  disturbed  stiil  more  the  branches  clustering 
around  him.  The  lapse  of  a  few  moments  without  any  assault, 
persuaded  Hector  to  believe  that  all  danger  va:  passed;  and  he 
was  just  about  to  lift  his  head  for  another  survey,  when  he  felt  the 
entire  weight  of  a  heavy  body  upon  his  back.  While  the  -black 
had  lain  quiet,  in  those  few  moments,  Sanutee  bad  swept  round  a 
turn  in  the  woods,  and  with  a  single  bound,  a-Ver  noticing  the  per 
son  of  the  spy,  had  placed  his  foot  upon  him. 

"  Hello,  now,  wha'  de  debble  dat  ?     Git  off,  I  tell  you.     Dis  dah 
Hector  !     Wha'  for  you  trouble  Hector  ?" 

Thus  shouting  confusedly,  the  negro,  taken  in  C,?  vary  act,  with 
a  tone  of  mixed  fear  and  indignation,  addressed  his  assailant,  while 
struggling  violently  all  the  time  at  his  extrication.  His  struggles 
only  enabled  him  to  see  his  captor,  who,  calling  out  to  Ishiagaska, 
in  a  moment,  with  his  assistance,  dragged  forth  the  spy  from  his 
unconcealing  cover.  To  do  Hector's  courage  all  manner  of  justice, 
he  battled  violently ;  threatening  his  captors  dreadfully  with  the 
vengeance  of  his  master.  But  his  efforts  ceased  as  the  hatchet  of 
Ishiagaska  gleamed  over  his  eyes,  and  he  was  content — save  in 
words,  which  he  continued  to  pour  forth  with  no  little  fluency — to 
forego  his  further  opposition  to  the  efforts  which  they  now  made  to 
keep  him  down,  while  binding  his  arms  behind  him  with  a  thong 
of  hide  which  Ishiagaska  readily  produced.  The  cupidity  of 
Chorley  soon  furnished  them  with  a  plan  for  getting  rid  of  him. 
Under  his  suggestion,  driving  the  prisoner  before  them,  with  the 
terrors  of  knife  and  hatcLst,  they  soon  reached  the  edge  of  the 
river,  and,  after  a  little  search,  they  found  the  place,  Rattlesnake 
Point,  where  the  cruiser's  boat  had  been  stationed  in  waiting. 
With  the  assistance  of  the  two  sailors  in  it,  the  seats  were  taken 
up,  and  the  captive,  kicking,  smuggling,  and  threatening,  and  all  in 
vain,  was  tumbled  in ;  the  seats  were  replaced  above  him,  the  sea 
men  squatted  upon  them;  and  every  chance  of  a  long  captivity, 
and  that  foreign  slavery  against  which  his  master  had  forewarned 
him,  was  the  melancholy  prospect  in  his  thoughts.  The  further 
arrangements  between  the  chiefs  and  the  sailor  took  place  on  shore, 
and  out  of  Hector's  hearing.  In  a  little  while  it  ceased — the 


THE     YKMASSEE.  8i 

Yeinassees  took  their  way  up  the  river  to  Pocota-ligo,  while  Chor- 
ley,  returning  to  his  boat,  bringing  the  deer  along — which  he  tum 
bled  in  upon  the  legs  of  the  negro — took  his  seat  in  the  stern,  and 
the  men  pulled  steadily  off  for  the  vessel,  keeping  nigh  the  opposite 
shore,  and  avoiding  that  side  upon  which  the  settlements  of  the 
Carolinians  were  chiefly  to  be  found.  As  they  pursued  their  way, 
a  voice  hailed  them  from  the  banks,  to  which  the  sailor  gave  no 
reply,  but  immediately  changing  the  direction  of  the  boat,  put  her 
instantly  into  the  centre  of  the  stream.  But  the  voice  was  known 
to  Hector  as  that  of  Granger,  the  Indian  trader,  and  with  a  despe 
rate  effort,  raising  his  head  from  the  uncomfortable  place  where  it 
had  been  laid  on  a  dead  level  with  his  body,  he  yelled  out  to  the 
trader,  with  his  'utmost  pitch  of  voice,  vainly  endeavouring,  through 
the  mists  of  evening,  which  now  hung  heavily  around,  to  make  out 
the  person  to  whom  he  spoke.  A  salutary  blow  from  the  huge  fist 
of  the  sailor,  driven  into  the  uprising  face  of  the  black,  admo 
nished  him  strongly  against  any  future  imprudence,  while  forcing 
him  back,  with  all  the  force  of  a  sledge-hammer,  to  the  shelter  of 
his  old  position.  There  was  no  reply,  that  the  negro  heard,  to  his 
salutation;  and,  in  no  long  time  after,  the  vessel  was  reached. 
Hector  was  soon  consigned  to  a  safe  quarter  in  the  hold,  usually 
provided  for  such  freight,  and  kept  to  await  the  arrival  of  as  many 
companions  in  captivity,  as  the  present  enterprise  of  the  pirate  cap*! 
tain,  for  such  is  Master  Richard  Chorley,  promised  to  procure. 


CHAPTER   IX 

'*  Wiy  goes  he  forth  again— what  is  the  quert, 
That  from  his  cottage  home,  and  the  warm  heard, 
Blest  that  its  warmth  is  his,  carries  him  forth 
By  night,  into  the  mazy  solitude  ?" 

THE  boats,  side  by  side,  of  Sanutee  and  Ishiagaska,  crossed  the 
river  at  a  point  just  below  Pocota-ligo.  It  was  there  that  Sanutee 
landed — the  other  chief  continued  his  progress  to  the  town.  But 
a  few  words,  and  those  of  stern  resolve,  passed  between  them  at 
separation  ;  but  those  words  were  volumes  in  Yemassee  history. 
They  were  the  words  of  revolution  and  strife,  and  announced  the 
preparation  of  the  people  not  less  than  of  the  two  chiefs,  for  the 
commencement,  with  brief  delay,  of  that  struggle  with  their  Eng 
lish  neighbours,  which  was  now  the  most  prominent  idea  in  theii 
minds.  The  night  was  fixed  among  them  for  the  outbreak,  tho 
several  commands  arranged,  and  the  intelligence  brought  by  the 
sailor  informed  them  of  a  contemplated  attack  of  the  Spaniards  by 
sea  upon  the  Carolinian  settlements,  while,  at  the  same  time, 
another  body  was  in  progress,  over  land,  to  coalesce  with  them  in 
their  operations.  This  latter  force  could  not  be  very  far  distant,  and 
it  was  understood  that  when  the  scouts  should  return  with  accounts 
of  its  approach,  the  signal  should  be  given  for  the  general  mas 
sacre. 

"  They  shall  die — they  shall  all  perish,  and  their  scalps  shall 
shrivel  around  the  long  pole  in  the  lodge  of  the  warrior,"  exclaimed 
Ishiagaska,  fiercely,  to  his  brother  chief,  still  speaking  in  their  own 
language.  The  response  of  Sanutee  was  in  a  different  temper, 
though  recognising  the  same  necessity. 

"  The  Yemassee  must  be  free,"  said  the  elder  chief,  solemnly 
in  his  sonorous  tones — "The  Manneyto  will  bring  him  freedom — 
he  will  take  the  burden  from  hia  ahouldars,  and  set  him  up  agrainai 


THE    YEMASSEE.  83 

khe  tree  by  the  wayside.  He  will  put' the  bow  into  his  hands — ho 
will  strengthen  him  for  the  chase ;  there  shall  be  no  pale-face* 
along  the  path  to  rob  him  of  venison — to  put  blows  upon  his 
shoulders.  The  Yemassee  shall  be  free." 

"He  shall  drink  blood  for  strength.  lie  shall  hunt  the  track 
of  the  English  to  the  shores  of  the  big  waters  ;  and  the  war-whoor 
shall  ring  death  in  the  ear  that  sleeps,"  cried  Ishiagaska,  with  & 
furious  exultation. 

"Let  them  go,  Tshiagaska,  let  them  go  from  the  Yemassee— - 
let  the  warrior  have  no  stop  in  the  chase,  when  he  would  strii^ 
the  brown  deer  on  the  edge  of  the  swamp.  Let  them  leave  the 
home  of  the  Yemassee,  and  take  the  big  canoe  over  the  waters, 
and  the  tomahawk  of  Sanutee  shall  be  buried — it  should  drink 
no  blood  from  the  English." 

J"  They  will  not  go,"  exclaimed  the  other  fiercely — "  there  must 
be  blood — the  white  man  will  not  go.  His  teeth  are  in  the  trees, 
and  he  eats  into  the  earth  for  his  own." 

"Thou  hast  said,  Ishiagaska — there  must  be  blood — they  will 
not  go.  The  knife  of  the  Yemassee  must  be  red.  But— not  yet — 
not  yet !  The  moon  must  sleep  first — the  Yemassee  is  a  little  child, 
till  the  moon  sleeps,  but  then — " 

"  He  is  a  strong  man,  with  a  long  arrow,  and  a  tomahawk  like 
the  Manneyto." 

"  It  is  good — the  arrow  shall  fly  to  the  heart,  and  the  tomahawk 
shall  sink  deep  into  the  head.  The  Yemassee  shall  have  his  lands, 
and  his  limbs  shall  be  free  in  the  hunt." 

Thus,  almost  in  a  strain  of  lyric  enthusiasm,  for  a  little  while 
they  continued,  until,  having  briefly  arranged  for  a  meeting  with 
other  chiefs  of  their  party  for  the  day  ensuing,  they  separated, 
and  the  night  had  well  set  in  before  Sanutee  reappeared  in  the 
cabin  of  his  wife. 

He  returned  gloomy  and  abstracted — his  mind  brooding  ov<a 
schemes  of  war  and  violence.  He  was  about  to  plunge  his  nation 
into  all  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  a  strife  with  the  colony,  stjU 
in  its  infancy,  but  even  in  its  infancy,  powerful  to  the  Indians — 
with  a  people  with  whom  they  had,  hitherto,  always  been  at  peaco 
%i,d  on  terms  of  the  most  friendly  intercourse.  Sanutee  felt  tli« 


84:  THE    YEMAbSEE. 

lifficulties  of  this  former  relation  doublj  to  increase  those  whicn 
necessarily  belong  to  war.     He  had,  however,  well  deliberated  the 
matter,  and  arrived  at  a  determination,  so   fraught  with  peril  not 
only  to  himself  but  to  his  people,  only  after  a  perfect  conviction  of 
its  absolute  necessity.     Yet,  such  a  decision  was  a  severe  trial  to  a 
spirit  framed  as  his — a  spirit,  which,  as  in  the  case  of  Logan,  de 
sired  peace  rather  than  war.     The  misfortune  with  him,  however, 
consisted  in  this,  that  he  was  a  patriot  rather  than   a  sage,  and, 
though  lacking  nothing  of  that  wisdom  which  may  exist  in  the 
soul  of  the  true  and  excited  patriot ;  constituting,  when  it  does  so, 
the  very  perfection  of  statesmanship, — he  yet  could  not  coolly  con 
template  what  he  was  about  to  do,  without  misgiving  and  great 
mxiety.     The  schemes  in  which  he  had  involved  himself,  were  big 
nth  the  fate  of  his  own  and  another  people  ;  and  seeing  what 
^ere  the  dangers  of  his  attempt,  his  whole  thought  was  necessarily 
^iven  to  the  duty  of  lessening  and  averting  them.     But  this  was 
lot  the  sole  cause  of  anxiety.     It  was  with    a   sentiment   rather 
,  nore  Christian  than  Indian  that  he  recalled  the  ties  and  associa 
tions  which  he  himself,  as  well  as  his  people,  had  formed  with  the 
|Arhitcs  generally,  and  especially  with  individuals  among  them,  at 
.he  first  coming  of  the  European  settlers.    Ignorant  of  their  power, 
heir  numbers,  their  arts,  their  ambition,  he   had  been  friendly, 
lad  cordially   welcomed  them,  yielded  the   lands  of  his  people 
graciously,  and  when  the  whites  were  assailed,  by  other  tribes,  had 
limself  gone  forth  in  their  battle  even   against  the  Spaniards  of 
3t.  Augustine,  with  whom  he  now  found  it  politic  to  enter  into 
f  illiance.     But  his  eyes  were  now  fully  opened  to  his  error.     It  r. 
1  n  the  nature  of  civilization  to  own  an  appetite  for  dominion  and 
/  extended  sway,  which  the  world  that  is  known  will  always  fail  to 
patisfy.     It  is  for  her,  then,  to  seek  and  to  create,  and  not  with  the 
ilacedoniari  madman,  to  weep  for  the  triumph  of  the  unknown 
Jonquest  and  sway  are  the  great  leading  principles  of  her  existence, 
md  the  sarage  must  join  in  her  train,  or  she  rides  over  him  relent 
V  essly  in  her  onward  progress.     Though  slow,  perhaps,  in  her  ap 
proaches,  Sanutee  was  sage  enough  at  length  to  perceive  all  this. 
*s  the  inevitable  result  of  her  progressive  march.     The  evidem  a 
rose  daily  before  his  eyes  in  the  diminution  of  the  yamo — in  !'•* 


THE    YEMASSEE.  85 

frequent  insults  to  hi  5  people,  unredressed  by  their  obtrusive  neigh 
bours — and  in  the  daily  approach  of  some  new  borderer  among 
them,  whose  habits  were  foreign,  and  whose  capacities  were  ob- 
vicfusly  superior  to  theirs.  The  desire  for  new  lands,  and  the 
facility  with  which  the  whites,  in  many  cases,  taking  advantage 
of  the  weaknesses  of  the  Indian  chiefs,  had  been  enabled  to  pro 
cure  them,  impressed  Sanutee  strongly  with  the  melancholy 
prospect  in  reserve  for  the  Yemassee.  He,  probably,  would  not 
live  to  behold  them  landless,  and  his  own  children  might,  to  the 
last}  have  range  enough  for  the  chase  ;  but  the  nation  itself  was  in 
the  thought  of  the  unselfish  chieftain,  upon  whom  its  general  voice 
had  conferred  the  title  of  "  the  well  beloved  of  the  Manneyto." 

He  threw  himself  upon  the  bearskin  of  his  cabin,  and  Matiwan 
stood  beside  him.  She  was  not  young — she  was  not  beautiful, 
but  her  face  was  softly  brown,  and  her  eye  was  dark,  while  her 
long  black  hair  came  down  her  back  with  a  flow  of  girlish  luxuri 
ance.  Her  face  was  that  of  a  girl,  still  round  and  smooth,  and 
though  sorrow  had  made  free  with  it,  the  original  expression  must 
have  been  one  of  extreme  liveliness.  Even  now,  when  she  laughed, 
and  the  beautiful  white  teeth  glittered  through  her  almost  purple 
lips,  she  wore  all  the  expression  of  a  child.  The  chief  loved  her 
as  a  child  rather  than  as  a  wife,  and  she  rather  adored  than  loved 
the  chief.  At  this  moment,  however,  as  she  stood  before  him, 
robed  loosely  in  her  long  white  garment,  and  with  an  apron  of 
the  soft  skin  of  the  spotted  fawn,  he  had  neither  words  nor  looks 
for  Matiwan.  She  brought  him  a  gourd  filled  with  a  simple  beer 
common  to  their  people,  and  extracted  from  the  pleasanter  roots 
of  the  forest,  with  the  nature  of  which,  all  Indians,  in  their  rude 
pharmacy,  are  familiar.  Unconsciously  he  drank  off  the  beverage, 
and,  without  speaking,  returned  the  gourd  to  the  woman.  She 
addressed  him  inquiringly  at  last. 

"  The  chief,  Sanutee,  has  sent  an  arrow  from  his  bow,  yet  brings 
he  no  venison  from  the  woods  ?" 

The  red  of  his  cheek  grew  darker,  as  the  speech  reminded  him 
of  his  loss,  not  only  of  dog,  but  deer ;  and  though  the  sailor  had 
proffered  him  the  meat,  which  his  pride  had  compelled  him  to 
he  could  not  but  feel  that  he  had  been  defrauded  of  the 


86  THE    YEMASSEE. 

spoils  of  the  chase,  which  were  in  reality  his  own.  Reminded  at 
the  same  time  of  the  loss  of  his  favourite  dog,  the  chief  replied 
querulously : 

"  Has  Matiwan  been  into  the  tree-top  to-day,  for  the  voice  of  the 
bird  which  is  painted,  that  she  must  sing  with  a  foolish  noise  in 
the  ear  of  Sanutee  ?" 

The  woman  was  rebuked  into  silence  for  the  moment,  but  with 
a  knowledge  of  his  mood,  she  sank  back  directly  behind  him, 
upon  a  corner  of  the  bearskin,  and,  after  a  few  prefatory  notes,  as 
if  singing  for  her  own  exercise  and  amusement,  she  carolled  forth 
in  an  exquisite  ballad  voice,  one  of  those  little  fancies  of  the 
Indians,  which  may  be  found  among  nearly  all  the  tribes  from 
Carolina  to  Mexico.  It  recorded  the  achievements  of  that  Puck 
of  the  American  forests,  the  mocking-bird :  and  detailed  the 
manner  in  which  he  procured  his  imitative  powers.  The  strain, 
playfully  simple  in  the  sweet  language  of  the  original,  must  neces 
sarily  lose  in  the  more  frigid  verse  of  the  translator. 

THE  " COONEE-LATEE,"  OR  "TRICK-TONGUE." 
L 

"  As  the  Coonee-latee  looked  forth  from  his  lea£ 
He  saw  below  him  a  Yemassee  chie£ 

In  his  war-paint,  all  so  grim — 
Sung  boldly,  then,  the  Coonee-latee, 
I,  too,  will  seek  for  mine  enemy ; 

And  when  the  young  moon  grows  dim, 
Fll  slip  through  the  leaves,  nor  shake  them,— 
111  come  on  my  foes,  nor  wake  them, — 

And  I'll  take  off  their  scalps  like  him. 

II. 

**ln  the  forest  grove,  where  the  young  birds  slept^ 
Slyly  by  night,  through  the  leaves  he  crept, 

With  a  footstep  free  and  bold — 
From  bush  to  bush,  and  from  tree  to  tree, 
They  lay,  wherever  his  eye  could  see, 

The  bright,  the  dull,  the  young,  and  the  old' 
Fll  cry  my  war-whoop,  eaid  he,  at  breaking 
rhe  sle«i>,  that  shall  never  know  awaking, 

And  their  hearts  shall  soon  grow  cold. 


THE    YEMASSJfiE.  87 

1IL 

\  '  Bat,  03  nigher  and  nigher  the  spot  he  crept, 

Ami  saw  that  with  open  mouth  they  slept, 

The  thought  grew  strong  in  his  brain — 
And  from  bird  to  bird,  with  a  cautious  tread, 
He  unhook'd  the  tongue,  out  of  every  head, 

Then  flew  to  his  perch  again ; — 
And  thus  it  is,  whenever  he  chooses, 
The  tongues  of  all  of  the  birds  he  uses, 

And  none  of  them  dare  complain."* 

The  silly  little  ballad  may  have  had  its  effect  in  soothing  the 
humours  of  the  chief,  for  which  it  was  intended  :  but  he  made  no 
remark.  Though  sad  and  vacant  of  look,  he  seemed  soothed, 
however,  .and  when  a  beautiful  pet  fav/n  bounded  friskingly  into 
the  lodge,  from  the  enclosure  which  ITttjoined  it,  and  leaped  play 
fully  upon  him,  as,  with  an  indulged  habit,  he  encouraged  its 
caresses.  The  timid  Matiwan,  herself,  after  a  little  while,  encou 
raged  by  this  show  of  good  nature,  proceeded  to  approach  him 
also.  She  drew  nigh  to  him  in  silence, — still  behind  him,  and 
hesitatingly,  her  hand  at  length  rested  upon  his  shoulder.  To  the 
liberty  thus  taken  with  a  great  chief,  there  was  no  objection  made  • 
but  at  the  same  time,  there  was  no.  acknowledgment  or  return,  no 
recognition.  Sanutee,  silent  and  meditative,  unconsciously,  it 
would  seem,  suffered  his  own  hand  to  glide  over  the  soft  skin  ana 
shrinking  neck  of  the  fawn.  The  animal  grew  more  familiar  and 
thrust  its  nose  into  his  face  and  bosom,  a  liberty  which  Matiwan, 
the  wife,  was  seldom  emboldened  to  attempt.  Suddenly,  however, 
the  warrior  started,  and  thrust  the  now  affrighted  animal  away 
from  him  with  violence.  •• 

"  Woman  !"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  "  the  white  trader 
has  been  in  the  lodge  of  Sanutee." 

u  No  !  no  1  Sanutee, — the  white  trader, — no !  not  Granger.  lit 
has  not  been  in  the  lodge  of  the  chief!" 

"  The  beads,  Matiwan ! — the  beads !  See  !"  with  the  words,  he 
caught  the  fawn  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  tore  from 
its  neck,  a  thick  necklace,  several  strands  of  large  particolored 

*  Th«  grovQ  is  generally  silent  when  the  mocking-bird  singa. 


88  THE    YEMASSEE. 

beads  which  had  been  wound  about  the  neck  of  the  animal 
Dashing  them  to  the  ground,  he  trampled  them  fiercely  under  his 
feet. 

"  The  boy, — Sanutee — the  boy,  Occonestoga — " 

"  The  dog  !  came  he  to  the  lodge  of  Sanutee  when  Sanutee  said 
no  !  Matiwan — woman  !  Thy  ears  have  forgotten  the  words  of 
the  chief — of  Sanutee — thine  eyes  have  looked  upon  a  dog." 

"'Tis  the  child  of  Matiwan — Matiwan  has  no  child  but  Occo 
nestoga.'"  And  she  threw  herself  at  length,  with  her  face  to  th<j 
ground,  at  the  foot  of  her  lord. 

"Speak,  Matiwan  —  darkens  the  dog  still  in  the  lodge  of 
Sanutee  ? " 

"  Sanutee,  no !  Occonestoga  has  gone  with  the  chiefs  of  the 
English,  to  talk  in  council  with  the  Yeruassee." 

"  Ha — thou  speakest !  —  look,  Matiwan — where  stood  the  sun 
when  the  chiefs  of  the  pale-faces  came  ?  Speak ! " 

"  The  sun  stood  high  over  the  lodge  of  Matiwan,  and  saw  not 
beneath  the  tree-top." 

"  They  come  for  more  lands — they  would  have  all ;  but  they 
know  not  that  Sanutee  lives — they  say  he  sleeps — that  he  has  no 
tongue, — that  his  people  have  forgotten  his  voice !  They  shall 
see."  As  he  spoke,  he  pointed  to  the  gaudy  beads  which  lay 
strewed  over  the  floor  of  the  cabin,  and,  with  a  bitter  sarcasm  of 
glance  and  speech,  thus  addressed  her  : — 

"  What  made  thee  a  chief  of  Yemassee,  Matiwan,  to  sell  the 
i/iands  of  my  people  to  the  pale-faces  for  their  painted  glass  ?  They 
would  buy  thee,  and  the  chief,  and  the  nation — all ;  and  with  what? 
With  that  which  is  not  worth,  save  that  it  is  like  thine  eye.  And 
thou — didst  thou  pray  to  the  Manneyto  to  send  thee  from  thy 
people,  that  thou  mightst  carry  water  for  the  pale-faces  from  the 
spring  ?  Go — thou  hast  done  wrong,  Matiwan." 

"  They  put  painted  glass  into  the  hands  of  Matiwan,  but  they 
asked  not  for  lands  ;  they  gave  it  to  Matiwan,  for  she  was  the  wifc> 
of  Sanutee,  the  chief." 

"  They  lied  with  a  forked  tongue.  It  was  to  buy  the  lands  of 
our  people ;  it  was  to  send  us  into  the  black  swamps,  where  the 
BUD  sleeps  for  ever.  But  I  will  go — where  is  the  dog — the  slave 


THE    YKMASSEE.  8S 

of    tLe   pale-faces  ?      Where   went   Occonestoga    with   the  Eng 
liJh?" 

"  To  Pocota-ligo — they  would  see  the  chiefs  of  Yemassee." 

"To  buy  them  with  the  painted  glass,  and  red  cloth,  and  burn 
ing  water.  Manneyto  be  with  iny  people,  for  the  chiefs  are  slaves 
to  the  English ;  and  they  vvill  give  the  big  forests  of  my  fathers  t«- 
be  cut  down  by  the  accursed  axes  of  the  pale-face.  But  they 
blind  me  not — they  buy  not  Sanutee  !  The  knife  must  have 
blood — the  Yemassee  must  have  his  home  with  the  old  grave  of 
his  father.  I  will  go  to  Pocota-ligo." 

"  Sanutee,  chief-  -'tis  Matiwan,  the  mother  of  Occonestoga,  that 
speaks;  thou  wnt  see  the  young  chief — thou  wilt  look  upon  the 
boy  at  Pocota-ligo.  Oh  !  well-beloved  of  the  Yemassee — look  not 
to  strike."  She  sank  at  his  feet  as  she  uttered  the  entreaty,  and 
her  arms  clung  about  hie  knees. 

"  I  would  not  see  Occonestoga,  Matiwan — for  he  is  thy  son. 
Manoeyto  befriend  thee,  but  thou  hast  been  the  mother  to  a 
dog." 

"  Thou  wilt  not  see  to  strike — " 

"  t  would  not  see  him  !  but  let  him  not  stand  in  the  path  of 
Sanutee.  Look,  Matiwan — the  knife  is  in  my  hand,  and  there  is 
death  for  the  dog,  and  a  curse  for  the  traitor,  from  the  black 
swamps  of  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

He  said  no  more,  and  she,  too,  was  speechless.  She  could  only 
raise  her  hands  and  eyes,  in  imploring  expression  to  his  glance, 
as,  seizing  upon  his  tomahawk,  which  he  had  thrown  beside  him 
upon  the  skin,  he  rushed  forth  from  the  lodge,  and  took  tfre  path 
to  Pocota-ligo. 


CHAPTER    X. 

"Ye  shall  give  all, 

The  old  homes  of  your  fathers,  and  their  grares, 
To  be  the  spoils  of  strangers,  and  go  forth 
In  exile." 

THE  house  of  council,  iu  the  town  of  Pocota-ligc.,  was  filled  that 
night  with  an  imposing  conclave.  The  gauds  and  the  grandeur — tho 
gilded  mace,  the  guardian  sword,  the  solemn  stole,  the  rich  pomps 
of  civilization  were  wanting,  it  is  true  ;  but  how  would  these  have 
shown  in  that  dark  and  primitive  assembly !  A  single  hall — huge 
and  cumbrous — built  of  the  unhewn  trees  of  the  forest,  composed 
the  entire  building.  A  single  door  furnished  the  means  of  access 
and  departure.  The  floor  was  the  native  turf,  here  and  there  con 
cealed  by  the  huge  bearskin  of  some  native  chief,  and  they  sat 
around,  each  in  his  place,  silent,  solemn  ;  the  sagacious  mind  at 
work ;  the  big  soul  filled  with  deliberations  involving  great  events, 
and  vital  interests  of  the  future.  No  assembly  of  the  white  man 
compares,  in  seeming  solemnity  at  least,  with  that  of  the  red 
Motionless  like  themselves,  stood  the  torch-bearers,  twelve  in  num 
ber,  behind  them — standing  and  observant,  and  only  varying  then 
position  when  it  became  necessary  to  renew  with  fresh  materials 
the  bright  fires  of  the  ignited  pine  which  they  bore.  These  were 
all  the  pomps  of  the  savage  council;  it  is  but  the  narrow  sense, 
alone,  which  would  object  to  their  deficiency.  The  scene  is  onlv 
for  the  stern  painter  of  the  dusky  and  sublime — it  would  suffer  in 
other  hands. 

Iluspah  was  at  this  time  the  superior  chief — the  reigning  king, 
if  we  may  apply  that  title  legitimately  to  the  highest  dignitary  of 
*  people  with  a  form  of  government  like  that  of  the  Yemassees. 
Lie  bore  the  title  of  Mico,  which  may  b«  rendered  king  or  prince, 
though  it  was  in  name  only  that  he  might  be  considered  in  that 
character.  He  was  not  one  of  those  men  of  great  will,  who  make 


)  THE   YEMASSEE.  91 

royalty  power,  no  less  than  a  name.  In  this  sense  there  was  no 
king  in  the  nation,  unless  it  were  Sanutee.  Huspah  was  a  shadowy 
head.  The  Yemassees  were  ruled  by  the  joint  authority  of  several 
chiefs — each  controlling  a  special  section  with  arbitrary  authority, 
yet,  when  national  measures  were  to  be  determined  upon,  it 
required  a  majority  for  action.  These  chiefs  were  elective,  and 
from  these  the  superior,  or  presiding  chief,  was  duly  chosen  ;  all 
of  these,  without  exception,  were  accountable  to  the  nation  ; 
though  such  accountability  was  rather  the  result  of  popular  im 
pulse  than  of  any  other  more  legitimate  or  customary  regulation 
It  occurred  sometimes,  however,  that  a  favourite  ruler,  presuming 
upon  his  strength  with  the  people,  ventured  beyond  the  prescribed 
boundary,  and  transcended  the  conceded  privileges  of  his  station ; 
but  such  occurrences  were  not  frequent,  and,  when  the  case  did 
happen,  the  offender  was  most  commonly  made  to  suffer  the  un 
measured  penalties  always  consequent  upon  any  outbreak  of 
popular  indignation.  As  in  the  practice  of  more  civilized  coni-l 
munities,  securing  the  mercenaries,  a  chief  has  been  known  to 
enter  into  treaties,  urisanctioned  by  his  brother  chiefs ;  and,  form 
ing  a  party  resolute  to  sustain  him,  has  brought  about  a  civil  war 
in  the,  nation,  and,  perhaps,  the  secession,  from  the  great  body,  o£/ 
many  of  its  tribes.  Of  this  sort  was  the  case  of  the  celebrated 
Creek  chief,  Mackintosh — whose  summary  execution  in  Georgia, 
but  a  few  years  ago,  by  the  indignant  portion  of  his  nation,  dis 
approving  of  the  treaty  which  he  had  made  with  the  whites  for 
the  sale  of  lands,  resulted  in  the  emigration  of  a  large  minority  of 
that  people  to  the  west. 

Among  the  Yemassees,  Huspah,  the  oldest  chief,  was  tacitly 
placed  at  the  head  of  his  caste,  and  these  formed  the  nobility  of 
the  nation.  This  elevation  was  nominal,  simply  complimentary  in 
its  character,  and  without  any  advantages  not  shared  in  common 
with  the  other  chiefs.  The  honour  was  solely  given  to  past  achieve 
ments  ;  for  at  this  time,  Huspah,  advanced  in  years  and  greatly 
enfeebled,  was  almost  in  his  second  infancy.  The  true  power  of 
the  nation  rested  in  Sanutee — his  position  was  of  all  others  the 
most  enviable,  as  upon  him  the  eyes  of  the  populace  generally 
turned  in  all  matters  of  trying  and  important  character.  However 


92  THE  YEMASSEE. 

reluctant,  his  brother  chiefs  were  usually  compelled  to  yield  tc 
the  popular  will  as  it  was  supposed  to  be  expressed  through  the 
lips  of  one  styled  by  general  consent,  the  "  well-beloved  "  of  the 
nation.  A  superiority  so  enviable  with  the  people  had  the  natural 
effect  of  making  Sanutee  an  object  of  dislike  among  his  equals. 
He  was  not  ignorant  of  their  envy  and  hostility.  This  had 
k'.en  shown  in  various  ways ;  particularly  \L.  the  fact  that  in 
council,  it  was  only  necessary  that  he  should  introduce  a  measure 
to  find  him  in  a  minority.  An  appeal  to  the  people  would,  it 
is  true,  make  all  right ;  but  to  the  patriotic  mind  of  Sanutee, 
particularly  now,  and  with  such  important  objects  in  view,  the 
relation  with  his  brother  chiefs  was  a  subject  of  great  anxiety, 
as  he  plainly  foresaw  the  evil  consequences  to  the  people  of  this 
hostility  on  the  part  of  the  chiefs  to  himself,  The  suggestions 
which  he  made  in  council  were  usually  met  with  decided  oppo 
sition  by  a  regularly  combined  party,  and  it  was  only  necessary 
to  identify  with  his  name  the  contemplated  measure,  to  rally 
against  it  sufficient  opposition  for  its  defeat  in  council.  The  nation, 
it  is  true,  did  him  justice  in  the  end  ;  but  to  his  mind  there  was 
nothing  grateful  in  this  sort  of  conflict. 

/*  Under  this  state  of  things  at  home,  it  may  be  readily  understood 
I  why  the  hostility  of  Sanutee  to  the  approaching  English,  should 
[^ineet  little  sympathy  with  the  majority  of  those  around  him. 
Accordingly,  we  find,  that  as  the  favourite  grew  more  and  more 
palous  of  and  hostile  to  the  intruders,  they  became,  for  this  very 
reason,  more  and  more  favoured  by  the  party  among  the  chiefs, 
which  was  envious  of  his  position.  No  one  knew  better  than 
Sanutee  the  true  nature  of  the  difficulty.  lie  was  a  far  superior 
politician  to  those  around  him,  and  had  long  since  foreseen  the 
warfare  he  would  be  compelled  to  wage  with  his  associates  when 
aiming  at  the  point,  to  which,  at  this  moment,  every  feeling  of  his 
Boui,  and  every  energy  of  his  mind,  was  devoted.  It  was  this 
knowledge  that  chiefly  determined  him  upon  the  conspiracy — the 
pian  of  which,  perfectly  unknown  to  the  people,  was  only  entrusted 
to  the  bosom  of  a  few  chiefs,  having  like  feelings  with  himsel£ 
These  difficulties  of  his  situation  grew  more  obvious  to  his  mind, 
as.  foil  of  evil  auguries  from  the  visit  of  the  English  commissioners, 


THE    YEMA3SEE,  93 

/ 

he  took  the  lonely  path  from  his  own  lodge  to  the  council-house  of 
Pocota-ligo. 

He  arrived  just  in  season.  As  he  feared,  the  rival  chiefs  had 
taken  advantage  of  his  absence  to  give  audience  to  the  cominis- 
*iouers  of  treaty  from  the  Carolinians,  charged  with  the  power  to 
purchase  from  the  Yemassees  a  large  additional  tract  of  Ian;], 
which,  if  sold  to  the  whites,  would  bring  their  settlements  directly 
upon  the  borders  of  Pocota-ligo  itself.  The  whites  had  proceeded, 
us  was  usual  in  such  Ceases,  to  administer  bribes  of  one  sort  or 
another,  in  the  shape  of  presents,  to  all  such  persons,  chiefs,  or 
people,  as  were  most  influential  and  seemed  most  able  to  serve 
them.  In  this  manner  had  all  in  that  assembly  been  appealed  to 
Huspah,  an  old  and  drowsy  Indian,  tottering  with  palsy  from  side 
to  side  of  the  skin  upon  which  he  sat,  was  half  smothered  in  the 
wide  folds  of  a  huge  scarlet  cloak  which  the  commissioners  had  flung 
over  his  shoulders.  Dresses  of  various  shapes,  colours,  and  decora- 
•UUUK  *•!'.'.?;  H*  mignt  oe  neia  most  impoaiii*  ,  <  u.-,<  umiau  t>>«.n«u 
bwen  jfivi-ft  •«?  each  in  the  assembly,  sad  p  -•  .--,  w  WKHI  as  received, 
la  addition  «i  these,  other  arifta.  such  as  b^'-vU.  knivoa,  twaria.^.. 
nad  been  made  to  minister  to  the  craving  poverty  of  the  people,  so 
that,  before  the  arrival  of  Sanutee,  the  minds  of  the  greater  number 
of  the  chiefs  had  been  rendered  very  flexible,  and  prepared  to  give 
gracious  answer  to  all  claims  and  proffers  which  the  policy  of  the 
white  commissioners  should  prompt  them  to  make. 

Sanutee  entered  abruptly,  followed  by  Ishiagaska,  who,  like  him 
self,  had  just  hatLintelligence  of  the  council.  There  was  a  visible 
start  in  the  assembly  as  the  old  patriot  came  forward,  full  into  the 
centre  of  the  circle, — surveying,  almost  analyzing  every  feature,  and 
sternly  dwelling  in  his  glance  upon  the  three  commissioners,  who 
sat  a  little  apart  from  the  chiefs,  upon  a  sort  of  mat  to  themselves 
Another  mat  held  the  presents  which  remained  unappropriated  and 
bad  been  reserved  for  such  chiefs,  Ishiagaska  and  Sanutee  among 
them,  as  had  not  been  present  at  the  first  distribution. 

The  survey  of  Sanutee,  and  the  silence  which  followed  his  first 
^noaranee  within  the  circle,  lasted  not  long:  abruptly,  and  with 

\oice  of  deep  but  restrained  emotion,  addressing  no  one  in 
.  aic,  la  *»»>t  with  fi  glance  almost  exclusively  given  to  the  com- 


94  THE    YEMASSEE. 

missioners,  he  at  length  exclaimed  as  follows,  in  his  own  strong 
language : — 

"  Who  came  to  the  lodge  of  Sanutee  to  say  that  the  chiefs  were 
in  council?.  Is  not  Sanutee  a  chief? — the  Yeraassees  call  him  so, 
or  he  dreams.  Is  he  not  the  well-beloved  chief  of  the  Yemassee-s 
or  have  his  brothers  taken  from  him  the  totem  of  his  tribe  ?  Look, 
chiefs,  is  the  broad  arrow  of  Yemassee  gone  from  the  shoulder  of 
Sanutee?" 

And  as  he  spoke,  throwing  the  loose  hunting  shirt  open  to  the 

shoulder,  he  displayed  to  the  gaze  of  all,  the  curved  arrow  upon 

his  bosom,  which  is  the  badge  of  the  Yemassees.    A  general  silence  in 

the  assembly  succeeded  this  speech — none  of  them  caring  to  answer 

for  an  omission  equally  chargeable  upon  all.     The  eye  of  the  chief 

piowered  scornfully  as  it  swept  the  circle,  taking  in  each  face  with 

\  its  glance ;   then,  throwing  upon   the    earth    the   thick  bearskin 

\  which  he  carried  upon  his  arm,  he  took  his  seat  with   the  slow 

\aud    sufficient    dignity   of    a    Roman    senator,   speaking    as    he- 

Descended : — 

"  It  is  well — Sanutee  is  here  in  council — he  is  a  chief  of  the 
Yemassees.  He  kas  ears  for  the  words  of  the  English." 

O 

Granger,  the  trader  and  interpreter,  who  stood  behind  the  com 
missioners,  signified  to  them  the  purport  of  Sanutce's  speech,  and 
his  demand  to  hear  anew  the  propositions  which  the  English  came 
to  make.  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger — then  newly  created  a  landgrave, 
one  of  the  titles  of  Carolinian  nobility — the  head  of  the  deputa 
tion,  arose  accordingly,  and  addressing  himself  to  the  new-come* ,~ 
rather  than  to  the  assembly,  proceeded  to  renew  those  pledges  and 
protestations  which  he  had  already  uttered  to  the  rest.  His  speech 
was  immediately  interpreted  by  Granger,  who,  residing  in  Pocota- 
ligo,  was  familiar  with  their  language. 

"Chiefs  of  the  Yemassee,"  said  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger — "we 
come  from  your  English  brothers,  and  we  1  ring  peace  with  this 
belt  of  wampum.  They  have  told  us  to  say  o  you  that  one  house 
covers  the  English  and  the  Yemassee.  There  is  no  strife  between 
us — we  are  all  the  children  of  one  father,  and  to  prove  their  faith 
they  have  sent  us  with  words  of  good-will  and  friendship,  and  to 
you,  Sanutee,  as  the  well-beloved  chief  of  the  Yeraassee,  they  send 


/  THE    YEMASSEE. 

this  coat,  which  they  have  worn  close  to  their  hearts,  and  which 
they  would  have  you  wear  in  like  manner,  in  proof  of  the  love 
that  is  between  us." 

Thus  saying,  the  chief  of  the  deputation  presented,  through  the 
medium  of  Granger,  a  rich  but  gaudy  cloak,  such  as  had  already 
been  given  to  Huspah ; — but  putting  the  interpreter  aside  and 
rejecting  the  gift,  Sanutee  sternly  replied — 

"  Our  English  brother  is  good,  but  Sanutee  asks  not  for  the 
cloak.  Does  Sanutee  complain  of  the  cold  ?  " 

Granger  rendered  this,  and  Bellinger  addressed  him  in  reply — 

"  The  chief  Sanutee  will  not  reject  the  gift  of  his  English 
brother." 

"  Does  the  white  chief  come  to  the  great  council  of  the  Yemas- 
sees  as  a  fur  trader  ?  Would  he  have  skins  for  his  coat  ? "  vraa 
the  reply. 

"  No,  Sanutee — the  English  chief  is  a  great  chief,  and  doer,  not 
barter  for  skins." 

"A  great  chief ? —he  came  to  the  Yemassee  a  little  child,  and 
we  took  him  into  our  lodges.  We  gave  him  meat  and  vfater." 

"  We  know  this,  Sanutee."  But  the  Yemassee  went  on  without 
heeding  the  interruption. 

"  We  helped  him  with  a  staff  as  he  tottered  through  the  thick 
wood." 

"  True,  Sanutee." 

"  We  showed  him  how  to  trap  the  beaver,*  and  to  hunt  the 
deer — we  made  him  a  lodge  for  his  woman ;  and  we  sent  our 
young  men  on  the  war-path  against  his  enemy." 

"  We  have  not  forgotten — we  have  denied  none  of  the  services, 
Sanutee,  which  yourself  and  people  have  done  for  us,"  said  the 
deputy. 

"  And  now  he  sends  us  a  coat ! "  and  as  the  chief  uttered  this 
Hnlooked-for  anti-climax,  his  eye  glared  scornfully  wound  upon 
the  subservient  portion  of  the  assembly.  Somewhat  mortified 
with  the  tenour  of  the  sentence  which  the  interpreter  in  the  mean 
time  had  repeated  to  him,  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger  would  have 
answered  the  refractory  chief — 

*  The  bearer,  originally  taken  in  Carolina,  is  now  extinct. 


96  THE   YEMASSEE. 

"  No.  but,  Sanutee — " 

Without  heeding  or  seeming  to  hear  him,  the  old  warrior 
went  011 — 

"  Ho  sends  good  words  to  the  Yemassee,  he  gives  him  painted 
HHSS,  and  makes  him  blind  with  a  water  which  is  poison — his  shot 
rings  in  our  forests — we  hide  from  his  long  knife  in  the  cold 
?wamp,  while  the  copper  snake  creeps  over  us  as  we  sleep." 

As  soon  as  the  deputy  comprehended  this  speech,  he  replied — 

"  You  do  us  wrong,  Sanutee, — you  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
the  English." 

Without  waiting  for  the  aid  of  the  interpreter,  the  chief,  who 
uad  acquired  a  considerable  knowledge  of  the  simpler  portions  of 
tiie  language,  and  to  whom  this  sentence  was  clear  enough,  im 
mediately  and  indignantly  exclaimed  in  his  own — addressing  tht> 
chiefs,  rather  than  replying  to  the  Englishman — 
»  "  Fear, — Sanutee  has  nc  rear  of  the  English — he  fears  only  the 
Manneyto.  lie  only  fears  that  his  people  may  go  blind  with  the 
English  poison  drink, — that  the  great  chiefs  of  the  Yemassee  may 
sell  him  for  a  slave  to  the  English,  to  plant  his  maize  and  to  be 
Deateii  with  a  stick.  But,  let  the  ears  of  the  chiefs  hear  the  voice 
of  Sanutee — the  Yemassee  shall  not  be  the  slave  o^  the  pale-face." 

"There  is  no  reason  for  this  fear,  Sanutee — the  English  have 
always  been  the  friends  of  your  people,"  said  the  chief  of  the 
deputation. 

"  Would  the  English  have  more  land  from  the  Yemassee  ?  Let 
aim  speak ;  Granger,  put  the  words  of  Sanutee  in  his  ear.  Why 
does  lie  not  speak  ?  " 

Granger  did  as  directed,  and  Sir  Edmund  replied : — 

"The  English  do  want  to  buy  some  of  the  land  of  your 
people — " 

"  Did  not  Sanutee  say  1  And  the  coat  is  for  the  land,"  quickly 
exclaimed  the  old  chief,  speaking  this  time  in  the  English  lan 
guage. 

"  No,  Sanutee,"  was  the  reply — "  the  coat  is  a  free  gift  from  the 
Kuglish.  They  ask  for  nothing  in  return.  But  we  would  buv  your 
•»nd  with  other  things — we  would  buy  on  the  same  terms  that  v. . 
ix  night  from  the  Cas^ique  of  Combahee." 


x  THE    YEMASSEK.  97 

"  The  Cassique  of  Corabahee  is  a  dog — he  sells  the  grave  of  his 
father.  I  will  not  sell  the  "land  of  my  people.  The  Yemassee 
ioves  the  old  trees  and  the  shady  waters  where  he  was  born,  ana 
where  the  bones  of  the  old  warriors  lie  buried.  I  speak  to  you, 
chiefs — it  is  the  Voice  of  Sanutee.  Uear  his  tongue — it  has  no 
fork ;  look  on  his  face — it  does  not  show  lies.  These  are  scars  of 
battle,  when  I  stood  up  for  my  people.  There  is  a  name  for  these 
scars — they  do  not  lie.  Hear  me,  then." 

"  Our  ears  watch,"  was  the  general  response,  as  he  made  his 
address  to  the  council. 

"  It  is  good. — Chiefs  of  the  Yemassee,  now  hear.  Why  comes 
the  English  to  the  lodge  of  our  people  ?  Why  comes  he  with  a 
red  coat  to  the  Chief — why  brings  he  beads  and  paints  for  the  eye 
of  a  little  boy  ?  Why  brings  he  the  strong  water  for  the  young 
man  ?  Why  makes  he  long  speeches,  full  of  smooth  words — why 
does  he  call  us  brother  ?  He  wants  our  lands.  But  we  have  no 
lands  to  sell.  The  lands  came  from  our  fathers — they  must  go  to 
our  childnn.  They  do  not  belong  to  us  to  sell — they  belong  to 
our  children  to  keep.  We  have  sold  too  much  land,  and  the  old 
turkey,  before  the  sun  sinks  behind  the  trees,  can  fly  over  all  the 
land  that  is  ours.  Shall  the  turkey  have  more  land  in  a  day  than 
the  Yemassee  has  for  his  children  ?  Speak  for  the  Yemassee, 
chiefs  of  the  broad-arrow — speak  for  the  Yemassee — speak,  Ishia- 
gaska — speak,  Choluculla — speak,  thou  -friend  of  Manney to,  whose 
words  are  true  as  the  sun,  and  whose  wisdom  comes  swifter  than 
the  lightning — speak,  prophet — speak,  Enoree-Mattee — speak  for 
the  Yemassee." 

T6  the  high-priest,  or  rather  the  great  prophet  of  the  nation, 
the  latter  portion  of  the  speech  of  Sanutee  had  been  addressed. 
He  was  a  cold,  dark,  stern  looking  man,  gaudily  arrayed  in  a  flow 
ing  garment  of  red,  a  present  from  the  whites  at  an  early  period, 
while  a  fillet  around  his  head,  of  cloth  stuck  with  the  richest 
feathers,  formed  a  distinguishing  feature  of  dress  from  any  of  the 
rest.  His  voice,  next  to  that  of  Sanutee,  was  potential  among  the 
Indians ;  and  the  chief  wreil  knew,  in  appealing  to  him,  Choluculla, 
and  Ishiagaska,  that  he  was  secure  of  these,  if  of  none  other  ua 
the  council. 

fc 


98  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Enoree-Mattee  is  the  great  prophet  of  Manneyto — he  will  not 
sell  the  lands  of  Yemassee." 

"  'Tis  well — speak,  Ishiagaska — speak,  Choluculla,"—  exclaimed 
Sanutee. 

They  replied  in  the  same  moment : — 

"  The  English  shall  have  no  land  from  the  Yemassee.     It  is  the 
voice  of  Ishiagaska — it  is  the  voice  of  Choluculla." 

tt  It  is  the  voice  of  Sanutee — it  is  the  voice  of  the  prophet — it 
is  the  voice  of  the  Manneyto  himself!"  cried  Sanutee,  with  a  tone 
of  thunder,  and  with  a  solemn  emphasis  of  manner  that  seemed 
to  set  at  rest  all  further  controversy  on  the  subject.  But  the  voices 
*hich  had  thus  spoken  were  all  that  spoke  on  this  side  of  the 
Question.  The  English  had  not  been  inactive  heretofore,  and,  what 
with  the  influence  gained  from  their  numerous  presents  and 
promises  to  the  other  chiefs,  and  the  no  less  influential  dislike  and 
jealousy  which  the  latter  entertained  for  the  few  more  controlling 
spirits  taking  the  stand  just  narrated,  the  minds  of  the  greater 
number  had  been  well  prepared  to  make  any  treaty  which  might 
be  required  of  them;  trusting  to  their  own  influence  somewhat,  but 
more  to  the  attractions  of  the  gewgaws  given  in  return  for  their 
lands,  to  make  their  peace  with  the  great  body  of  the  people  in 
the  event  of  their  dissatisfaction.  Accordingly,  Sanutee  had 
(scarcely  taken  his  seat,  when  one  of  the  most  hostile  among  them, 
a  brave  but  dishonest  chief,  now  arose,  and  addressing  himself 
chiefly  to  Sanutee,  thus  furnished  much  of  the  feeling  and  answer 
for  the  rest : — 

"  Does  Sanutee  speak  for  the  Yemassee — and  where  are  the 
other  chiefs  of  the  broad-arrow  ?  Where  are  Metatchee  and 
Huspah — where  is  Oonalatchie,  where  is  Sarrataha  ? — are  they  not 
here  ?  It  is  gone  from  me  when  they  sung  the  death-song,  an<? 
went  afar  to  the  blessed  valley  of  Manneyto.  They  are  not  gone— 
they  live — they  have  voices  and  can  speak  for  the  Yemassee 
Sanutee  may  say,  Ishiagaska  may  say,  the  prophet  may  say — but 
they  say  not  for  Manneywanto.  There  are  brave  chiefs  of 
the  Yemassee,  yet  we  hear  only  Sanutee.  Samutee  !  cha  !  cha 
I  am  here — I — Mauneywanto.  I  speak  for  the  trade  with  on 
fcugiish  brother.  The  Yemassee  wi)1  sell  .thq  land  to  thei 


THE    YEMAS8EE.  99 

brothers,"     He  was  followed  by  another  and  another,  all  in  the 
affirmative. 

"  Metatchee  will  trade  with  the  English.  The  English  is  the 
brother  to  the  Yemassee." 

"  Oonalatchie  will  sell  the  land  to  our  English  brothers." 

And  so  on  in  succession,  all  but  the  four  first  speakers,  the  as 
sembled  chiefs  proceeded  to  sanction  the  proposed  treaty,  the  terms 
of  which  had  been  submitted  to  them  before.  To  the  declarator 
of  each,  equivalent  as  it  was  to  the  vote  given  in  our  assemblies 
Sanutee  had  but  a  single  speech. 

"  It  is  well !     It  is  well !" 

And  he  listened  to  the  vol.es  in  succession,  approving  of  the 
trade,  until,  rising  from  a  corner  of  the  apartment  in  which,  lying 
prostrate,  he  had  till  then  kept  out  of  the  sight  of  the  assembly 
and  entirely  concealed  from  the  eye  of  Sanutee,  a  tall  young  war 
rior,  pushing  aside  the  torch-bearers,  staggered  forth  into  the  ring. 
He  had  evidently  been  much  intoxicated,  though  now  recovering 
from  its  effects ;  arid,  but  for  the  swollen  face  and  the  watery  eye, 
the  uncertain  and  now  undignified  carriage,  he  might  well  have 
been  considered  a  fine  specimen  of  savage  symmetry  and  manly 
beauty.  When  his  voice,  declaring  also  for  the  barter,  struck 
upon  the  ear  of  the  old  chief,  he  started  round  as  if  an  arrow  had 
suddenly  gone  into  his  heart — then  remained  still,  silently  con 
templating  the  speaker,  who,  in  a  stupid  and  incoherent  manner, 
proceeded  to  eulogize  the  English  as  the  true  friends  and  dear 
brothers  of  the  Yemassees.  Granger,  the  trader  and  interpreter, 
beholding  the  fingers  of  Sanutee  gripe  the  handle  of  his  toma 
hawk,  whispered  in  the  ears  of  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger  : — 

"Now  would  I  not  be  Occonestoga  for  the  world.  Sanutee  will 
tomahawk  him  before  the  stupid  youth  can  get  out  of  the  way." 

Before  the  person  addressed  could  reply  to  the  interpreter,  his 
prediction  was,  in  part,  and,  but  for  the  ready  presence  of  the 
Englishman,  would  have  been  wholly  accomplished.  Scarcely  had 
the  young  chief  Finished  his  maudlin  speech,  than,  witn  a  horrible 
yell,  seemingly  of  laughter,  Sanutee  leaped  forward,  and,  with 
uplifted  arm  and  descending  blow,  would  have  driven  the  hatchet 
deep  into  the  scull  of  the  only  half-conscious  youth,  wlen  Sw 


100  .THE   YKMASSEE. 

Edmund  seized  the  arm  of  the  fierce  old  man  in  time  to  defeat  the 
effort. 

"  Woulust  thou  slay  thy  own  son,  Sanutee  ?" 

I"  lie  is  thy  slave — he  is  not  the  son  of  Sanutee.  Thou  hast 
made  him  a  dog  with  thy  poison  drink,  till  he  would  sell  thee  his 
own  mother  to  carry  witer  for  thy  women.  Hold  me  not,  English 
man — I  will  strike  the  slave — I  will  strike  thee,  too,  that  art  his 
master  ;"  and,  with  a  fury  and  strength  which,  to  check,  required 
the  restraining  power  of  half  a  dozen  warriors,  he  laboured  to 
effect  his  object.  They  succeeded,  however,  in  keeping  him  back, 
until  the  besotted  youth  had  been  safely  hurried  from  the  apart 
ment  ;  when,  silenced  and  stilled  by  the  strong  reaction  of  his  ex 
citement,  the  old  chief  sank  down  again  upon  his  bearskin  seat  in 
a  stupor,  until  the  parchment  conveying  the  terms  of  the  treaty, 
with  pens  and  ink,  provided  by  Granger  for  their  signatures,  was 
handed  to  Huspah,  for  his  own  and  the  marks  of  the  chiefs. 
Sanutee  looked  on  with  some  watchfulness,  but  moved  not,  until 
one  of  the  attendants  brought  in  the  skin  of  a  dog  filled  with 
earth  and  tightly  secured  with  thongs,  giving  it  the  appearance 
of  a  sack.  Taking  this  sack  in  his  hands,  Huspah,  who  had  been 
half  asleep  during  the  proceedings,  now  arose,  and  repeating  the 
word's  of  general  concurrence  in  the  sale  of  the  lands,  proceeded 
to  the  completion  of  the  treaty  by  conveying  the  sack  which  held 
some  of  the  soil  to  the  hands  of  the  commissioners.  But  Sanutee 
again  rushed  forward  ;  and  seizing  the  sack  from  the  proffering 
hand  of  Uuspah,  he  hurled  it  to  the  ground,  trampled  it  under 
foot,  and  poured  forth,  as  he  did  so,  an  appeal  to  the  patriotism 
of  the  chiefs,  in  a  strain  of  eloquence  in  his  own  wild  language 
which  we  should  utterly  despair  to  render  into  ours.  He  implored 
them,  holding  as  they  did  the  destinies  of  the  nation  in  their 
hands,  to  forbear  its  sacrifice.  He  compared  the  wide  forests  of 
their  fathers,  in  value,  with  the  paltry  gifts  for  which  they  were 
required  to  give  them  up.  lie  dwelt  upon  the  limited  province, 
even  now,  which  had  been  left  them  for  the  chase  ;  spoke  of  the 
daily  incursions  and  injuries  of  the  whites ;  and,  with  those  bold 
forms  of  phrase  and  figure  known  among  all  primitive  people, 
with  whom  metaphor  and  personification  supply  the  deficiency 


THE    YEMASSEE.  101 

and  make  up  for  the  poverty  of  language,  he  implored 'them  not 
to  yield  up  the  bones  of  their  fathers,  nor  admit* tile  stranger  to 
contact  with  the  sacred  town,  given  them  i>y  tu^  Manneylo,  f^ri-i 
solemnly  dedicated  to  his  service.  But  he  spoke  in  vain;  he  ad 
dressed  ears  more  impenetrable  than  those  of  the  adder.  They 
had  been  bought  and  sold,  and  they  had  no  scruple  to  sell  the! 
country.  He  was  supported  by  the  few  who  had  spoken  with  him 
against  the  trade; but  what  availed  patriotism  against  numbers? 
They  were  unheeded,  and,  beholding  the  contract  effected  which 
gave  up  an  immense  body  of  their  best  lands  for  a  strange  assort 
ment  of  hatchets,  knives,  blankets,  brads,  beads,  and  other  com 
modities  of  like  character,  Sanutee,  followed  by  his  three  friends, 
rushed  forth  precipitately,  and  with  a  desperate  purpose,  from  tho 
traitorous  assembly. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

•*  A  rengeance  for  the  traitors  ;   rengeanca  d**p 
Ai  is  their  treason — curses  loud  and  long, 
Surpassing  their  own  infamy  and  guilt." 

SANUTEE,  the  "  Well  Beloved,"  was  not  disposed  to  yield  up  the 
territory  of  bis  forefathers  without  further  struggle.  The  Yemas- 
sees  were  something  of  a  republic,  and  tne  appeal  of  the  old 
patriot  now  lay  with  the  people.  He  was  much  better  acquainted 
with  the  popular  feeling  than  those  who  had  so  far  sacrificed  it ; 
arid,  though  maddened  with  indignation,  he  was  yet  sufficiently 
cool  to  determine  the  most  effectual  course  for  the  attainment  of 
his  object.  Not  suspecting  his  design,  the  remaining  chiefs  con 
tinued  in  council,  in  deliberations  of  one  sort  or  another;  probably 
in  adjusting  the  mode  of  distributing  their  spoils  ;  while  the  Eng 
lish  commissioners,  having  succeeded  in  their  object,  retired  for  the 
\iight  to  the  dwelling  of  Granger,  the  Indian  trader — a  Scotch 
adventurer,  who  had  been  permitted  to  take  up  his  abode  in  the 
village,  and  from  his  quiet,  unobtrusive,  and  conciliatory  habits, 
had  contrived  to  secure  much  of  the  respect  and  good  will  of  the 
Yernassees.  Samite,  meanwhile,  discussed  his  proposed  undertaking 
with  his  three  companions,  Enoree-Mattee,  the  prophet,  Ishiagaska, 
and  Choluculla,  all  of  whom  wore  privy  to  the  meditated  insurrec 
tion.  He  next  sought  out  all  the  most  influential  and  fearless 
of  the  Yemassees.  Nor  did  he  confine  himself  to  these.  The 
rash,  the  thoughtless,  the  ignorant — all  were  aroused  by  his  elo- 
vjuence.  To  each  of  these  he  detailed  the  recent  proceedings  o*' 
council,  and,  in  his  own  vehement  manner,  explained  the  evil  con 
sequences  to  the  people  of  such  a  treaty ;  taking  care  to  shape  his 
iii formation  to  the  mind  or  mood  of  each  individual  to  whom  he 
spoke.  To  one  he  painted  the  growing  insolence  of  the  whites, 
increasing  with  their  increasing  strength,  almost  too  great,  already, 
U>J  any  control  or  management.  To  another,  he  described  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  103 

an  .aent  glories  of  his  nation,  rapidly  departing  in  the  subservience 
with  which  their  chiefs  acknowledged  the  influence,  and  truckled  to 
the  desires  of  the  English.  To  a  third,  he  deplored  the  loss  of  the 
noble  forests  of  his  forefathers,  hewn  down  by  the  axe,  to  make 
way  for  the  bald  fields  of  the  settler ;  despoiled  of  game,  and 
leaving  the  means  of  life  utterly  problematical  to  the  hunter.  In 
this  way,  with  a  speech  accommodated  to  every  feeling  arid  under 
standing,  he  went  over  the  town.  To  all,  he  dwelt  with  Indian^ 
empjiasis  upon  the  sacrilegious  appropriation  of  the  old  burial- 
places  of  the  Yemassee — one  of  which,  a  huge  tumulus  upon  the 
edge  of  the  river,  lay  almost  in  their  sight,  and  traces  of  which 
survive  to  this  day,  in  melancholy  attestation  of  their  past  history. 
The  effect  of  these  representations — of  these  appeals — coming  from 
one  so  well  beloved,  and  so  highly  esteemed  for  wisdom  and  love 
of  country,  as  Sanutee,  was  that  of  a  moral  earthquake  ;  and  his 
soul  triumphed~with  hope  as  he  beheld  them  rushing  onwards  in  a 
momently  gathering  crowd,  and  shouting  furiously,  as  they  bared 
the  knife  and  shook  the  tomahaw^  i*.  air — 

"  Sangarrah,  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee — Sangarrah,  ^Sangarrah- 
me-—  Yemassee " — the  bloody  war-cry  ot  the  nation.  To  over 
throw  the  power  of  the  chiefs  there  was  but  one  mode ;  and  the 
aroused  and  violent  passions  of  Sanutee  and  the  chiefs  who  con 
curred  with  them,  did  not  suffer  them  to  scruple  at  the  employ 
ment  of  any  process,  however  extreme,  for  the  defeat  of  the  pro 
ceedings  of  the  council.  The  excited  chiefs,  acting  in  concert,  and 
using  all  their  powers  of  eloquence,  succeeded  in  driving  the  in 
furiated  multitude  whom  they  had  roused  in  the  direction  of  the 
council  house,  where  the  chiefs  were  still  in  session. 

•'  It  is  Huspah,  that  has  sold  the  Yemassee  to  be  a  woman,"  was 
the  cry  of  one — "  Sangarrah-me — he  shall  die." 

"  He  hath  cut  off  the  legs  of  our  children,  so  that  they  walk  no 
longer — he  hath  given  away  our  lands  to  the  pale-faces — Sangar 
rah-me — he  shall  die ! " 

"  They  shall  all  die — have  they  not  planted  corn  in  the  bosom  of 
my  mother  ?" — cried  another,  referring,  figuratively,  to  the  sup 
posed  use  which  the  English  would  make  of  the  lands  they  had 
bought;  and,  furiously  aroused,  they  all  struck  their  hatchets 


104  THE    YEMASSEE. 

against  the  house  of  council,  commanding  the  chiefs  within  to 
come  forth,  and  deliver  themselves  up  to  their  vengeance.  But, 
warned  of  their  danger,  the  beleaguered  rulers  had  carefully  se 
cured  the  entrance ;  and,  trusting  that  the  popular  ebullition 
would  soon  be  quieted,  they  fondly  hoped  to  maintain  their  posi 
tion  until  such  period.  But  the  obstacle  thus  offered  to  the  progress 
of  the  mob — for  mobs  are  not  confined  to  the  civilized  cities — 
only  served  the  more  greatly  to  inflame  it ;  and  a  hundred  hands 
were  busy  in  procuring  piles  of  fuel,  with  which  to  fire  the  building. 
The  torches  were  soon  brought,  the  blaze  kindled  at  different 
points,  and  but  little  was  now  wanting  to  the  conflagration  which 
must  have  consumed  all  within  or  driven  them  forth  upon  the 
weapons  of  the  besiegers;  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  Sanutee  made 
his  appearance,  and  with  a  single  word  arrested  the  movement. 

"  Manneyto,  Manneyto — "  exclaimed  the  old  chief,  with  the  ut 
most  powers  of  his  voice ;  and  the  solemn  adjuration  reached  to 
the  remotest  incendiary  and  arrested  the  application  of  the  torch. 
Every  eye  was  turned  upon  him,  curious  to  ascertain  the  occasion 
of  an  exclamation  so  much  at  variance  with  the  purpose  of  then 
gathering,  and  so  utterly  unlooked-for  from  lips  which  had  princi 
pally  instigated  it.  Bui  the  glance  of  Sanutee  indicated  a  mind 
unconscious  of  the  effect  which  it  had  produced.  His  eye  was 
fixed  upon  another  object,  which  seemed  to  exercise  a  fascinating 
influence  upon  him.  His  hands  were  outstretched,  his  lips  parted, 
as  it  were,  in  amazement  and  awe,  and  his  whole  attitude  was  that 
of  devotion.  The  eyes  of  the  assembly  followed  the  direction  of 
his,  and  every  bosom  thrilled  with  the  wildest  throes  of  natural 
superstition,  as  they  beheld  Enoree  Mattee,  the  prophet,  writhing 
upon  the  ground  at  a  little  distance,  in  the  most  horrible  convul- 
•gions.  The  glare  of  the  torches  around  him  showed  the  terrific 
distortion  of  every  feature.  His  eyes  were  protruded,  as  if  bursting 
from  their  sockets — his  tongue  hung  from  his  widely  distended 
jaws,  covered  with  foam — while  his  hands  and  legs  seemed 
doubled  up,  like  a  knotted  band  of  snakes,  huddling  in  uncouth 
sports  in  midsummer. 

"  Opitchi-Manneyto — O pi tchi -Manneyto — here  are  arrows — VIQ 
burn  arrows  to  thee  ;  we  burn  red  feathers  to  thee,  Opitchi-Man- 


THE   YEMASSEE.  106 

neyto," — was  the  universal  cry  of  deprecatory  prayer  and  promise, 
winch  the  assembled  mass  sent  up  to  their  evil  deity,  whose 
presence  and  power  they  supposed  themselves  to  behold,  in  the 
agonized  writhings  of  their  prophet.  A  yell  of  savage  terror  then 
burst  from  the  lips  of  the  inspired  priest,  and>  rising  from  the 
ground,  as  one  relieved,  but  pregnant  with  a  sacred  fury,  he  waved 
bis  hand  towards  the  council-house,  and  rushed  headlong  into  the 
crowd,  with  a  sort  of  anthem,  which,  as  it  was  immediately 
chorussed  by  the  mass,  may  have  been  usual  to  such  occasions : 

"The  arrows — 

The  feathers — 
,    The  dried  scalps,  and  the  teeth, 

The  teeth  from  slaughtered  enemie*— 
Where  are  they — where  are  they  f 
We  burn  them  for  thee, — black  spirit — 
We  burn  them  for  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto— > 
Leave  us,  leave  us,  black  spirit." 

-x 

The  crowd  sung  forth  this  imploring  deprecation  of  the  demon's 
wrath ;  and  then,  as  if  something  more  relieved,  Enoree-Matte« 
uttered  of  himself: 

"  I  hear  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto— 
Thy  words  are  iu  my  ears, 
They  are  words  for  the  Yemassee ; 
And  the  prophet  shall  speak  them  aloud ! — 
Leave  us,  leave  us,  black  spirit." 

"  Leave  us,  leave  us,  black  spirit.  Go  to  thy  red  home,  Opitchi- 
Manneyto — let  us  hear  the  words  of  the  prophet — we  give  ear  to 
Enoree-Mattee." 

Thus  called  upon,  the  prophet  advanced  to  the  side  of  Sanutee, 
who  had,  all  this  while,  preserved  an  attitude  of  the  profoundest 
devotion.  The  prophet  then  stood  erect,  lifted,  as  it  were,  with 
inspiration,  his  eyes  spiritually  bright,  his  features  sublimed  by  a  s 
&acred  fury  ;  his  tongue  was  loosed,  and  with  lifted  hands  and 
accents,  he  poured  forth,  in  uncouth  strains,  a  wild  rhythmic  strain, 
the  highest  effort  of  lyric  poetry  known  to  his  people : 


106  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Let  the  Yemassee  have  ears, 
For  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Tis  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Not  the  prophet,  now  that  ape&k% 
Hear  Opitchi-Manneyto. 

"  In  my  agony,  he  came, 
And  he  hurl'd  me  to  the  ground; 
Dragged  me  through  the  twisted  bush, 
Put  his  hand  upon  my  throat, 
Breathed  his  fire  into  my  mouth- 
That  Opitchi-Manneyto. 

"And  he  said  to  me  in  wrath, — 
Listen,  what  he  said  to  me ; 
Hear  the  prophet,  Yemasseea — 
For  he  spoke  to  me  in  wrath ; 
He  was  angry  with  my  sons, 
For  he  saw  them  bent  to  slay, 
Bent  to  strike  the  council-chiefs, 
And  he  would  not  have  them  slain. 
That  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

As  the  prophet  finished  the  line  that  seemed  to  deny  them  the 
revenge  which  they  had  promised  themselves  upon  their  chiefs, 
the  assembled  multitude  murmured  audibly,  and  Sanutee,  than 
whom  no  better  politician  lived  in  the  nation,  knowing  well  that 
the  show  of  concession  is  the  best  mode  of  execution  among  the 
million,  came  forward,  and  seemed  to  address  the  prophet,  while 
his  speech  was  evidently  meant  for  them. 

"  Wherefore,  Enoree-Mattee,  should  Opitchi-Manneyto  save  the 
false  chiefs  who  have  robbed  their  people  ?  Shall  we  not  have 
their  blood — shall  we  not  hang  their  scalps  in  the  tree — shall  we 
not  bury  their  heads  in  the  mud  ?  Wherefore  this  strange  word 
from  Opitchi-Manneyto — wherefore  would  he  save  the  traitors  ?" 

"  It  is  the  well-beloved — it  is  the  well-beloved  of  Manneyto — 
apeak,  prophet,  to  Sanutee,"  was  the  general  cry  ;  and  the  howl, 
which,  at  that  moment,  had  been  universal,  was  succeeded  by  the 
hush  and  awful  stillness  of  the  grave.  The  prophet  was  not  slow 
to  answer  for  the  demon,  in  a  wild  strain  like  that  already  given 
them: 


THE   YEMASSEE.  107 

4Tis  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Not  the  prophet,  now  that  speaks, 
Give  him  ear  then,  Yemassee, 
Hear  Opitchi-Manneyto. 

k  Says  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Wherefore  are  my  slaves  so  few — 
Not  for  me  the  gallant  chief, 
Slaughtered  by  the  Yemassee — 
Blest,  the  slaughtered  chief  must  go, 
To  the  happy  home  that  lies 
In  the  bosom  of  the  hills, 
Where  the  game  is  never  less, 
Though  the  hunter  always  slays — 
Where  the  plum-groves  always  bloom, 
And  the  hunter  never  sleeps. 

'  Says  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Wherefore  are  my  slaves  so  few  I 
Shall  the  Yemassee  give  death — 
Says  Opitchi-Manneyto —  y 

To  the  traitor,  to  the  slave, 
Who  would  sell  the  Yemassee — 
Who  would  sell  his  father's  bones, 
And  behold  the  green  corn  grow 
From  his  wife's  and  mother's  breast 

'  Death  is  for  the  gallant  chief 
Says  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Life  is  for  the  traitor  slave, 
But  a  life  that  none  may  know — 
With  a  shame  that  all  may  see, 

1  Thus  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
To  his  sons,  the  Yemassee— 
Take  the  traitor  chiefs,  says  he,    \ 
Make  them  slaves,  to  wait  on  me.    \ 
Bid  Malatchie  take  the  chiefs, 
He,  the  executioner — 
Take  the  chiefs  and  bind  them  down, 
Cut  the  totem  from  each  arm, 
So  that  n,one  may  know  the  slaves, 
Not  their  fathers,  not  their  mothers — 
Children,  wives,  that  none  may  know— 


108  THE     YEMASSEE. 

Not  the  tribes  that  look  upon, 
Not  the  young  men  of  their  own, 
Not  the  people,  not  the  chiefs — 
Nor  the  good  Manneyto  know. 

'  Thus  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Make  these  traitors  slaves  for  me 
Then  the  blessed  valley  lost* 
And  the  friends  and  chiefs  they  knew. 
None  shall  know  them,  all  shall  flee, 
Make  them  slaves  to  wait  on  me — 
Hear  Opitchi-Mauneyto, 
Thus,  his  prophet  speaks  for  him, 
To  the  mighty  Yemassee." 

The  will  of  the  evil  deity  thus  conveyed  to  the  Indians  by  the 
prophet,  c&rried  with  it  a  refinement  in  the  art  of  punishment  to 
which  civilization  has  not  often  attained.  According  to  the 
superstitions  of  the  Yemassees,  the  depriving  the  criminal  of  life 
did  not  confer  degradation  or  shame ;  tor  his  burial  ceremonies  were 
precisely  such  as  were  allotted  to  those  dying  in  the  very  sanctity 
and  most  grateful  odour  of  favourable  public  opinion.  But  this  wa&— 
not  the  case  when  the  totem  or  badge  of  his  tribe  had  been 
removed  from  that  portion  of  his  person  where  it  had  been  the 
custom. of  the  people  to  have  it  wrought;  for,  without  this  totem, 
no  other  nation  could  recognise  them,  their  own  resolutely  refused 
to  do  it,  and,  at  their  death,  the  great  Manneyto  would  reject  them 
from  the  plum-groves  and  the  happy  valley,  when  the  fierce  Opit 
chi-Manneyto,  the  evil  demon,  whom  they  invoked  with  as  much, 
if  not  more  earnestness  than  the  good,  was  always  secure  of  his 
prey. 

Such,  then,  was  the  terrific  decree  delivered  by  the  prophet.  A 
solemn  awe  succeeded  for  a  moment  this  awful  annunciation 
among  the  crowd;  duly  exaggerated  by  the  long  and  painful 
howl  of  agony  with  which  the  doomed  traitors  within  the  council- 
house,  who  had  been  listening,  were  made  conscious  of  its  complete 
purport  Then  came  a  shout  of  triumphant  revenge  from  those 
without,  who  now,  with  minds  duly  directed  to  the  new  design, 
were  as  resolute  to  preserve  the  lives  of  the  chiefs  as  they  had 


THE    YE-MASSEE.  109 

before  been  anxious  to  destroy  them.  Encircling  the  council- 
house  closely  in  order  to  prevent  their  escape,  they  determined 
patiently  to  adopt  such  measures  as  should  best  secure  them  as 
prisoners.  The  policy  of  Sanuteo,  for  it  will  scarcely  need  that 
we  point  to  him  as  the  true  deviser  of  the  present  scheme,  was  an 
admirable  one  in  considering  the  Indian  character.  To  overthrow 
the  chiefs  properly,  and  at  the  same  time  to  discourage  communi 
cation  with  the  English,x  it  was  better  to  degrade  than  to  destroy 
them.  The  populace  may  sympathize  with  the  victim  whose 
blood  they  have  shed,  for  death  in  all  countries  goes  far  to  cancel 
the  memory  of  offence ;  but  they  seldom  restore  to  their  estima 
tion  the  individual  they  have  themselves  degraded.  The  mob,  in 
this  respect,  seems  ;o  be  duly  conscious  of  the  hangman  nlthiness 
of  its  own  fingers. 


r 


CHAPTER    XII. 


Tills  make*  of  thee  a  master,  me  a  §lar«, 
And  I  destroy  it ;    we  are  equal  now." 


A  NOT  less  exciting  scene  was  now  going  on  within  the  council 
chamber.  There,  all  was  confusion  and  despair.  The  shock  o/ 
such  a  doom  as  that  which  the  chiefs  had  heard  pronounced  by 
the  people,  under  the  influence  of  the  prophet,  came  upon  them 
like  a  bolt  of  thunder.  For  a  moment  it  paralyzed  with  its  terror* 
the  hearts  of  those  who  had  no  fear  of  death.  The  mere  loss  of 
life  is  always  an  event  of  triumph  with  the  brave  among  the  In 
dians,  and,  for  the  due  ennobling  of  which,  his  song  of  past  vic 
tories  and  achievements,  carefully  chronicled  by  a  memory  which 
has  scarcely  any  other  employment,  is  shouted  forth  in  the  most 
acute  physical  agony,  with  a  spirit  which  nothing  can  bend  or 
conquer.  But  to  deprive  him  of  this  memory — to  eradicate  all  the 
marks  of  his  achievements — to  take  from  him  the  only  credential 
by  which  he  operates  among  his  fellows,  and  claims  a  place  in  the 
ranks  of  the  illustrious  dead — was  a  refinement  upon  the  terrors 
of  punishment,  which,  unfrequently  practised,  was  held'  as  a  doom, 
intended  to  paralyze,  as  in  the  present  instance,  every  spark  of 
moral  courage  which  the  victim  might  possess.  For  a  moment 
such  was  its  effect  in  the  assembly  of  the  chiefs.  The  solitary 
howl  of  despair  which  their  unanimous  voices  sent  up,  as  the  first 
intimation  of  the  decree  met  their  ears,  was  succeeded  by  the  deep 
est  silence,  while  they  threw  themselves  upon  their  faces,  and  tht 
torch-bearers,  burying  their  torches  in  the  clay  floor  of  the  build 
ing,  with  something  of  that  hate  and  horror  which  seemed  to  dis 
tinguish  the  body  of  the  Indians  without,  rushed  forth  from  the 
apartment  and  joined  with  the  assembled  people.  Their  departure 
aroused  the  despairing  inmates,  and  while  one  of  them  carefully 
again  closed  the  entrance  before  the  watchful  mass  without  could 


THE   YEMASSEE.  Ill 

avail  themselves  of  the  opening,  the  rest  prepared  themselves  with 
renewed  courage  to  deliberate  upon  their  situation. 

"  There  is  death  for  Manneywanto,"  exclaimed  that  fierce  warmer 
and  chief — "  he  will  not  lose  the  arrow  of  his  tribe.  I  will  go  forth  to 
the  hatchet.  I  will  lift  my  arm,  and  strike  so  that  they  shall  slay." 

"  Let  them  put  the  knife  into  the  heart  of  Oonalatchie,"  cried 
another — "  but  not  to  the  arrow  upon  his  shoulder.  He  will  go 
forth  with  Manneywanto." 

The  determination  of  the  whole  was  soon  made.  Huspah  the 
superior  but  superannuated  chief,  tottered  in  advance,  singing 
mournfully  the  song  of  death  with  which  the  Indian  always  pre 
pares  for  its  approach.  Ths  song  became  general  with  the  victims, 
and  with  drawn  knives  and  ready  hatchets,  they  threw  wide  the 
entrance,  and  rushing  forth  with  a  fury  duly  heightened  by  the 
utter  hopelessness  of  escape,  they  struck  desperately  on  all  sides 
among  the  hundreds  by  whom  they  were  beleaguered.  But  they 
had  been  waited  and  prepared  for,  and,  forbearing  to  strike  in 
return,  and  freely  risking  their  own  lives,  the  Indians  were  content 
to  bear  them  down  by  the  force  of  numbers.  The  more  feeble 
among  them  fell  under  the  pressure.  Of  these  was  Huspah,  the 
king,  whom  the  crowd  immediately  dragged  from  the  press,  and, 
in  spite  of  the  exertions  of  Sanutee,  who  desired  the  observance 
of  some  formalities  which  marked  the  ceremony,  they  fiercely  cut 
away  the  flesh  from  that  portion  of  the  arm  which  bore  the  symbol 
of  his  people,  while  his  shrieks  of  despair  and  defiance,  reaching 
the  ears  of  his  comrades,  still  struggling  with  their  assailants, 
heightened  their  desperation  and  made  their  arrest  the  more  dif 
ficult.  But  the  strife  was  in  a  little  time  over.  The  crowd 
triumphed,  and  the  chiefs,  still  living  and  unhurt,  saving  only 
a  few  bruises  which  were  unavoidable  in  the  affray,  were  all 
secured  save  Manneywanto.  That  powerful  and  ferocious  chief 
manfully  battled  with  a  skill  and  strength  that  knew  no  abate 
ment  from  its  exercise,  and  seemed  only  heightened  by  the  oppo 
sition.  A  friendly  hand,  at  length,  whose  stroke  he  blessed,  en 
countered  him  in  the  crowd,  and  severed  his  skull  with  a  hatchet. 
He  was  the  only  individual  of  the  traitors  by  whom  the  vengeance 
of  the  Indians  was  defrauded.  Not  another  of  the  clan  proved  for- 


112  THE    YEMASSEE. 

lunate  in  his  desperation.  The  survivors  were  all  securely  taken, 
and,  carefully  bound  with  thongs,  were  borne  away  to  the  great 
tumulus  upon  which  they  were  to  suffer  the  judgment  which  they  so 
much  dreaded.  There  was  no  escape.  They  found  no  mercy 
They  did  not  plead  for  mercy,  nor  for  life.  Death  was  implored, 
but  in  vain.  The  prophet — the  people, were  relentless.  The  knife 
sheared  the  broad  arrow  from  breast  and  arm,  and  in  a  single  hour 
they  were  expatriated  men,  living  desperately  to  the  forests,  home 
less,  nationless,  outcasts  from  God  and  man,  yet  destined  to  live. 
It  is  remarkable  that,  in  all  this  time,  suicide  never  entered  the 
thoughts  of  the  victims.  It  forms  no  part  of  the  Indian's  philo 
sophy  to  die  by  his  own  hand,  and  the  Roman  might  have  won  a 
lesson  from  the  Yemassee,  in  this  respect,  which  would  have 
ennobled  his  Catos.* 

Meanwhile,  the  deputation  of  the  Carolinians  lay  at  the  house 
of  Granger,  full  of  apprehensions  for  their  common  safety.  Nor 
was  Granger  himself  less  so.  He  felt  assured  of  the  danger,  and 
only  relied  upon  the  interposition  of  Sanutee,  which  he  knew  to 
U-  all-powerful,  and  which,  looking  on  tbq  outbreak  of  the  people 
HS  the  result  of  their  own  impulse,  he  saw  no  reason  to  imagine 
would  be  denied  on  the  present  occasion.  From  their  place  of 
ivtreat,  which  lay  on  the  skirts  of  the  town  and  nigh  the  river,  the 
embassy  could  hear  the  outcries  and  clamours  of  the  Indians  with 
out  being  acquainted  with  particulars ;  and  when  at  length  they 
beheld  the  flames  ascending  from  the  house  of  council — which, 
when  they  had  seized  upon  the  chiefs,  the  rioters  had  fired — be 
lieving  the  chiefs  consumed  in  the  conflagration,  they  gave  them 
selves  up  for  lost.  They  did  not  doubt  that  the  fury  which  had 
sacrificed  so  many  and  such  influential  persons  would  scarcely  be 
satisfied  to  allow  of  their  escape ;  and,  firmly  impressed  with  the 
conviction  that  their  trial  was  at  hand,  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger  drew 
his  sword,  arid,  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  deputation,  prepared  for 
a  conflict  in  which  they  had  but  one  hope,  that  of  selling  the  life 
dearly,  which  seemed  so  certainly  forfeited. 

*  Ordinarily,  such  is  the  case ;  yet  there  are  exceptions  to  the  rule.  The 
Cherokees  have  been  frequently  known  to  destroy  themselves,  after  losing 
their  beauty  from  the  smallpox 


THE    YEMASSEE.  113 

In  this  mood  of  mind  they  waited  the  coining  of  the  storm  ;  nor 
were  they  long  kept  in  suspense.  Having  beheld  the  fearful  doom 
carried  into  effect,  and  seen  'their  ancient  rulers  scourged  out  of 
the  town,  the  revolutionists  rushed  headlong,  and  with  an  appetite 
for  blood  duly  heightened  by  the  little  they  had  seen,  to  the  dwell 
ing  of  the  trader — vowing  as  they  hurried  along,  to  their  infernal 
deity,  Opitchi-Manneyto,  an  increase  of  slaves  in  the  persons  of  the 
Englishmen,  whom  they  proposed  to  sacrifice  by  fire.  On  their 
way,  mistaking  one  of  their  own  people  who  had  dressed  himself 
somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  the  English,  in  a  dress  which  had 
been  discarded  by  some  white  man,  they  dashed  him  to  the  earth, 
trampled  and  nearly  tore  him  into  pieces  before  discovering  the 
mistake.  In  such  a  temper,  they  appeared  before  the  dwelling  of 
the  trader,  and  with  loud  shouts  demanded  their  prey. 

Determined  upon  stout  resistance  to  the  last,  the  commissioner? 
had  barricaded  the  little  dwelling  as  well  as  they  could  ;  and,  doubt 
less,  for  a  small  space  of  time,  would  have  made  it  tenable ;  but, 
fortunately  for  them,  just  as  the  furious  savages  were  about  to  ap 
ply  the  fatal  torch  to  the  building,  the  appearance  of  Enoree-Mattee 
and  Sanutee  spared  them  an  issue  which  could  have  only  termi 
nated  in  their  murder.  Sanutee  had  his  game  to  play,  and,  though 
perfectly  indifferent,  perhaps,  as  to  the  fate  of  the  commissioners, 
yet,  as  his  hope  in  the  forthcoming  insurrection  lay  in  taking  the 
Carolinians  by  surprise,  it  was  his  policy  to  impress  them  with  con 
fidence  rather  than  distrust.  He  aimed  now  to  divest  the  embassy 
of  all  suspicion,  and  to  confine  the  show  of  indignation  on  the  part 
of  the  Yemassees,  entirely  to  the  chiefs  who  had  so  abused  their 
power. 

Addressing  the  mob,  he  controlled  it  in  his  own  manner,  and 
telling  the^.  that  they  wanted  nothing  from  the  English  but  the 
treaty  which  had  so  fraudulently  been  entered  into  by  their  chiefs, 
he  engaged  to  them  to  effect  its  restoration,  along  with  the  skin  of 
earth,  which  completing  the  bargain,  was  held  equivalent  in  theii 
estimation,  to  a  completion  of  legal  right  as  an  actual  possession. 
After  some  demur,  Granger  admitted  the  chief,  who  came  alone  to 
the  presence  of  the  deputation,  the  chairman  of  which  tliiw  sternl? 
addressed  him: — 


114  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Are  the  English  dogs,"  said  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger,  "  that  thy 
people  hunt  them  with  cries  and  fire  ?  Wherefore  is  this,  Sanutee  ?" 

u  The  English  have  the  lands  of  my  people,  and  therefore  my 
people  hunt  them.  The  bad  chiefs  who  sold  the  land  as  chiefs  of 
the  Yemassee,  are  chiefs  no  longer." 

"  Thou  hast  slain  them  ?"  inquired  Sir  Edmund. 

"  No,  but  they  are  dead — dead  to  Sanutee — dead  to  the  Yemas 
see — dead  to  Manneyto.  They  are  dogs — the  English  have  slaves 
in  the  woods." 

"  But  their  acts  are  good  with  us,  and  the  English  will  protect 
them,  Sanutee,  and  will  punish  their  enemies.  Beware,  chief — J 
tell  thee  there  is  danger  for  thy  people." 

"  It  is  good.  Does  the  white  chief  hear  my  people  ?  They  cry 
for  blood.  They  would  drink  it  from  thy  heart,  but  Sanutee  is  the 
friend  of  the  English.  They  shall  touch  thee  not — they  shall  do 
thee  no  harm  !" 

"  Thou  hast  said  well,  Sanutee,  and  I  expected  no  less  from  thee  ; 
but  why  do  they  not  go?  Why  do  they  still  surround  our  dwell 
ing  ?" 

"  They  wait  for  the  wampum — they  would  tear  the  skin  which 
carries  the  laud  of  the  Yemassee  ;"  and  the  chief,  as  he  spoke, 
pointed  to  the  treaty  and  the  sack  of  earth  which  lay  by  the  side 
of  Bellinger.  He  proceeded  to  tell  them  that  they  should  be  secure 
when  these  were  re-delivered  to  the  Indians.  But,  with  the  com 
missioners  it  was  a  point  of  honour  not  to  restore  the  treaty  which 
they  had  obtained  from  the  rulers  de  facto  of  the  people — certain 
ly,  not  to  a  lawless  mob  ;  and,  regarding  only  the  high  trust  of 
which  he  had  charge,  the  speech  of  the  chief  commissioner  was 
instantaneous : — 

"  Never,  Sanutee,  never — only  with  my  blood.  Go — you  Lave 
my  answer.  We  shall  fight  to  the  last,  and  our  blood  be  upon  the 
heads  of  your  people.  They  will  pay  dearly  for  every  drop  of  it 
Aey  spill." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  Sanutee,  "  It  is  well :  Sanutee  will  go  back 
to  his  people,  and  the  knife  of  the  Yemassee  will  dig  for  his  land 
in  the  heart  of  the  English."  lie  left  the  house,  accordingly ;  and, 
with  gloomy  resignation,  Bellinger,  with  the  other  commissioners 


THE    YEMASSEE.  115 

and  Granger,  prepared  for  the  coming  storm  with  all  their  philo 
sophy.  In  a  few  moments  the  anticipated  commotion  began.  The 
populace,  but  a  little  before  silent  and  patient,  now  chafed  and 
roared  like  a  stormy  ocean,  and  the  fierce  cry  of  "  Sangarrah-me," 
the  cry  for  blood,  went  up  from  a  thousand  voices.  The  torches 
were  brought  forward,  and  the  deputies,  firm  and  fearless  enough, 
saw  no  hope  even  of  a  chance  for  the  use  of  their  weapons.  The 
two  subordinates,  with  Granger,  looked  imploringly  to  Bellinger, 
but  the  stern  chief  paced  the  apartment  unbendingly,  though  seem 
ingly  well  aware  of  all  the  dangers  of  their  situation.  At  that 
moment  the  wife  of  Granger — a  tall,  fine  looking  woman,  of  much 
masculine  beauty,  appeared  from  an  inner  apartment,  and  before 
she  had  been  observed  by  either  of  the  commissioners,  seizing  upon 
the  little  skin  of  earth  and  the  parchment  at  the  same  moment, 
without  a  word,  she  threw  open  the  door,  and  cried  out  to  Sanutee 
to  receive  them.  This  was  all  done  in  an  instant,  and  before  the 
stern  commissioner  could  see  or  interfere,  the  deposits,  placed  in  y 
the  grasp  of  the  savages,  were  torn  into  a  thousand  pieces. 

"  Woman,  how  durst  thou  do  this  1" — was  the  first  sentence  of 
Bellinger,  to  the  person  who  had  thus  yielded  up  his  trust.  But 
she  fearlessly  confronted  him — 

"  My  life  is  precious  to  me,  Sir,  though  you  may  be  regardless 
of  yours.  The  treaty  is  nothing  now  to  the  Yemassees,  who  have 
destroyed  their  chiefs  on  account  of  it  To  have  kept  it  would 
have  done  no  good,  but  must  have  been  destructive  to  us  all.  Sanu 
tee  will  keep  his  word,  and  our  lives  will  be  saved." 

It  was  evident  that  she  was  right,  and  Bellinger  was  wise  enough 
to  see  it.  He  said  nothing  farther,  glad,  perhaps,  that  the  respon 
sibility  of  the  action  had  been  thus  taken  from  his  shoulders.  The 
assurances  of  the  woman  were  soon  verified.  In  a  short  time  San 
utee  re-appeared  among  the  commissioners.  The  crowd  without, 
meanwhile,  had  been  made  to  hear  his  voice, — had  shared  in  the 
destruction  of  the  ofiensive  treaty,  and  their  rage  was  temporarily 
pacified.  The  storm  gradually  subsided. 

"  Sanutee  is  a  friend  of  the  English,"  was  the  soothing  assurance 
of  the  wily  chief.  "  The  wise  men  of  the  English  will  soon  go  to 
their  own  people.  The  Yemassee  will  do  them  no  hurt" 


116  THE    YEMAS3EE.         ' 

The  commissioners  waited  perforce  the  signal  of  Sanutee  to  de 
part.  The  clamour  having  subsided,  they  prepared  to  go  forth 
under  the  protection  and  presence  of  the  old  chief,  which  the  proud 
Sir  Edmund  Bellinger  had  indignantly,  but  in  vain,  refused.  See 
ing  that  Granger  and  his  wife  remained,  Sanutee  turned  suddenly 
upon  him,  and  in  a  low  tone,  unheard  by  the  commissioners,  asked 
why  he  did  not  prepare  to  go  also.  He  answered  by  avowing  his 
willingness  still  to  remain  in  Pocota-ligo,  as  before,  for  the  purpose 
of  trade. 

"  Go — Sanutee  is  good  friend  to  Granger,  and  to  his  woman. 
(Jo  all — there  is  fire  and  a  knife  in  the  hand  of  the  Yemassees,  and 
they  will  drink  a  deep  draught  from  the  heart  of  the  pale-faces. 
If  Granger  will  not  go  from  the  Yemassee,  look,  the  hatchet  of 
Sanutee  is  ready  *,"  and  he  raised  it  as  he  spoke — "  Sanutee  will 
save  Granger  from  the  fire-death." 

This  is  the  last  service  which  the  Indian  warrior  may  do  his 
friend,  and  Granger  understood  the  extent  of  the  impending  danger 
from  this  proffer,  meant  as  a  kindness  on  the  part. of  the  old  chief, 
lie  needed  no  second  exhortation  to  remove,  and,  though  the  hope 
of  gain  and  a  prosperous  trade  had  encouraged  him  hitherto,  to 
ri.sk  every  thing  in  his  present  residence,  the  love  cf  life  proved 
stronger ;  for  he  well  knew  that  Sanutee  seldom  spoke  without  good 
reason.  Packing  up,  therefore,  with  the  aid  of  his  wife,  the  little 
remaining  stock  in  trade  which  he  possessed,  and  which  a  couple 
of  good-sized  bundles  readily  comprised,  they  took  their  ^sv  a»cug 
with  the  commissioners,  and,  guided  by  Sanutee,  soon  reached  the 
river.  Choosing  for  them  a  double  canoe,  the  old  chief  saw  them 
safMy  embarked.  Taking  the  paddles  into  their  own  hands,  the 
midnight  wayfarers  descended  the  stream  on  their  way  towards  the 
Block  House,  while,  surrounded  by  a  small  group  of  his  people, 
bauntee  watched  their  slow  progress  from  the  banis. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

u  And  merrily,  through  the  long  summer  day, 
The  southern  boatman,  wii.ds  his  pliant  horn, 
AB  sweeping  with  the  long  pole  down  his  streams, 
He  cheers  the  lazy  hours,  and  speeds  them  on. 

THE  fugitives  reached  the  Block  House  in  safety,  and  foujv! 
the  few  hours  of  repose  which  they  could  snatch  between  the  time 
of  their  midnight  escape  and  daylight,  highly  grateful  from  the 
fatigues  which  they  had  undergone.  The  upper  apartments  were 
appropriately  divided  between  the  commissioners  and  Granger, 
who,  with  his  wife,  instead  of  seeking  sleep  on  their  arrival,  pro 
ceeded  with  all  the  mechanical  habits  of  the  trader,  to  attend  first 
uo  the  proper  safety  and  arrangement  of  his  stock  in  trade ;  which, 
consisting  of  a  few  unsold  goods,  of  a  description  adapted  to  the 
wants  of  that  region,  and  some  small  bundles  of  furs,  intrinsically 
of  little  value,  were  yet  to  the  selfish  tradesman  of  paramount 
importance. 

It  was  early  sunrise  on  the  morning  following  the  wild  events 
narrated  in  our  last  chapter,  when  Gabriel  Harrison,  of  whom  we 
have  seen  little  fer  some  time  past,  appeared  on  the  edge  of  the 
little  brow  of  hill,  known  as  the  Chief's  Bluff,  which  immediately 
overlooked  the  Pocota-ligo  river.  In  the  distance,  some  ten  or 
twelve  miles,  unseen  of  course,  lay  the  Indian  village  or  town  of 
the  same  name.  Immediately  before  him,  say  one  or  two  miles 
above,  in  the  broadest  part  of  the  stream,  rested  motionless  as  the 
hiil  upon  which  he  stood,  the  sharp  clipper-built  vessel,  which  has 
already  called  for  some  of  our  attention,  and  which,  at  this  mo 
ment,  seemed  to  attract  no  small  portion  of  his.  Sheltered  by  the 
branches  of  a  single  tree,  which  arose  from  the  centre  of  the  bluff, 
Harrison  continued  the  scrutiny,  with  here  and  there  a  soliloquizing 
remark,  until  interrupted  by  the  presence  of  the  commissioners, 
who,  with  Granger,  now  came  toward'  him  from  the  Block  House. 


118  T11E    YEMASSEE. 

"  Ha,  Sir  Edmund — gentlemen — how  fares  it,  and  when  canie 
you  from  Pocota-ligo.? "  was  the  salutation  of  Harrison  to  the 
deputation. 

"At  midnight,  my  lord — at  midnight,  and  in  a  hurry  ;  we  had 
the  whole  tribe  upon  us.  There  has  been  a  commotion,  and  by 
this  time,  I  doubt  not,  the  Yernassees  have  cut  the  throats  of  all 
the  chiefs  friendly  to  our  proposed  treaty." 

"  Indeed,  but  this  is  worse  and  worse.  I  feared  something,  and 
warned  the  council  against  this  movement.  But  their  cursed 
desire  to  possess  the  lands  must  precipitate  all  the  dangers  I  have 
been  looking  for.  I  told  them  that  the  Yernassees  were  discon 
tented,  and  that  the  utmost  care  must  be  taken  not  to  goad  them 
too  far.  I  saw  this  in  the  sullenness  of  old  Sanutee  himself,  an)i 
they  have  given  wings  to  the  mischief  by  their  imprudence.  But- 
how  was  it,  Sir  Edmund  ?  let  us  have  particulars." 

The  circumstances,  as  already  narrated,  were  soon  told,  and  the 
countenance  of  Harrison  bespoke  the  anxious  thoughts  in  his 
bosom.  Turning  to  Granger,  at  length,  he  addressed  the  trader 
inquiringly : 

"  Can  you  say  nothing  more  than  this — what  have  you  learned 
touching  Ishiagaska  ?  Was  it  as  I  feared  3  Had  he  been  to  St. 
Augustine  ?" 

41  He  had,  my  lord, — " 

'•  Harrison — Harrison — Captain  Harrison,"  impatiently  ex 
claimed  the  person  addressed — "  forget  while  here,  that  I  have  no 
other  title.  Go  on." 

u  Ishiagaska,  sir,  and  old  Choluculla,  both  of  them  have  been 
to  St.  Augustine,  and  have  but  a  week  ago  returned,  loaded  w'th 
presents." 

"Ay,  ay,  the  storm  gathers,  and  we  must  lock  to  it,  gentlemen 
commissioners.  This  matter  hurries  it  onward.  They  were 
making  their  preparations  fast  enough  before,  and  they  will  now 
find  reason  enough,  in  their  passions  and  our  cupidity,  for  instamt 
action.  Yet  you  say  that  Sanutee  saved  you." 

"  He  did,  and  seemed  friendly  enough." 

"Said  he  aught  of  disapproval  to  their  proceedings  ? — made  h« 
any  professions  of  regard  to  the  English  ?" 


THE  ^YEMASSEE.  119 

4<  He  said  little,  but  that  was  friendly,  and  his  interposition  for 

our  safety — " 

"Was  his  policy.     He  is  a  cunning  savage,  but  I  see  through  \ 
him.     He  does  not  wish   to  alarm  us,  for  they  can  only  conque?  I 
by  disarming  our  caution  ;  arid   this  is  my  greatest  fear.     Our' 
people  are  so  venturous  that  they  refuse  to  believe  any  evidence 
short  of  actual  demonstration,  and  every  day  finds  them  thrusting 
iheir  heads  and  shoulders  farther  and  farther  into  the  mouth  of 
the  enemy,  and  without  the  chance  of  support  from  their  friends 
They  will  grow  wise  at  a  fearful  price,  or  I  am  greatly  deceived." 

"  But  what  do  you  propose,  my  lord,  if  you  look  for  an  insur 
rection  near  at  hand  ?"  asked  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger. 

"  I  might  answer  you  readily  enough,  Sir  Edmund,  by  asking 
you  wherefore  I  am  here.  But  please  style  me  Harrison,  and  ii 
that  be  too  abrupt  in  its  expression,  to  your  own  ears — it  will  no. 
be  to  mine  — then  make  it  Master  or  Captain  Gabriel  Harrison.  It 
is  something  of  my  game  to  see  for  myself  the  difficulties  and  the 
dangers  at  hand,  and  for  this  reason  I  now  play  the  spy.  Here,  I 
am  perfectly  unknown — save  to  one  or  two  persons — except  as  the 
captain  of  a  little  troop,  whose  confidence  I  secured  in  the  affair 
with  your  C.oosaws  and  Ashepoos,  and  wliich  I  embodied  on  that 
.fcasion.  Still,  they  only  know  me  as  Captain  Harrison,  and, 
somehow  or  other,  they  are  well  enough  content  with  me  in  that 
character." 

"  And  think  you  that  there  is  an  insurrection  at  hand  ?" 

"  That,  Sir  Edmund,  is  my  fear.  It  is  the  question  which  we 
must  examine.  It  is  vitally  important  that  we  should  know.  Ou* 
borderers  are  not  willing  to  come  out,  unless  for  serious  cause,  and 
to  call  them  out  prematurely  would  not  only  tax  the  colony  beyond 
its  resources,  but  would  dismiss  the  present  rulers  of  the  people, 
with  curses  both  loud  and  deep,  to  the  unambitious  retreats  01 
home  and  fireside.  They  are  turbulent  enough  now,  and  this 
matter  of  religion,  which  our  lords  proprietors  in  England,  the 
bigoted  old  Granville  in  particular,  seem  so  willing,  with  their 
usual  stupidity,  to  meddle  with,  has  completely  maddened  these 
»ame  people,  in  whose  watery  county  of  Granville  we  now  stand." 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?" 


129  THE    YEMASSEE. 

*  Why,  surely,  to  gain  what  information  we  can,  before  calling 
the  people  to  arms.  To  render  them  cautious,  is  all  that  we  can 
do  at  present.  The  evidence  which  I  have  of  this  approaching 
insurrection,  though  enough  for  suspicion,  will  scarcely  be  con 
sidered  enough  for  action ;  and  I  must  continue  to  spy  myself,  and 
engage  others  in  the  work,  so  as  to  keep  pace  with  their  move 
ments.  They  must  be  watched  closely, — ay,  and  in  every  quarter 
Sir  Edmund,  for,  let  me  tell  you,  that  in  your  own  barony  of 
Ashepoo,  they  are  quite  as  devilishly  inclined  as  here.  They  are 
excited  all  around  us." 

"But  I  have  seen  nothing  of  all  this,"  was  the  reply  of  the 
landgrave.  "The  Ashepoos,  what  are  left  of  them,  seem  quiet 
enough  in  my  neighbourhood." 

"  To  be  sure  they  are,  while  in  the  presence  of  Sir  Edmund 
Bellinger,  the  immediate  authority  of  the  .English  in  their  country. 
But  did  you  strip  yourself  of  your  authority,  as  I  have  done,  for  I 
am  just  from  that  very  quarter;  put  on  the  dress,  and  some  of  the 
slashing  and  bilbo  swagger  of  a  drunken  captain  from  the  Low 
Countries,  to  whom  a  pot  of  sour  ale  is  the  supreme  of  felicity 
they  had  shown  you  more   of  their  true  nature.     Some  of  in} 
evidence  would  amuse  you.     For  example,  I  crossed  the  river  lasl 
night  to  the  house  of  Tamaita,  an  old  squaw  who  tells  fortunes 
in  the  very  centre  of  Terrapin  swamp,  where  she  is  surrounded  lt\ 
as  damnable  an  asemblage  of  living  alligators,  as  would  have  inadt 
happy  all  the  necromancers  of  the  past  ages.     She  told  me  my 
fortune,  which  she  had  ready  at  my  hand,  and  which,  if  true,  will 
certainly  make  me  a  convert  to  her  philosophy.     But,  with  hei 
predictions,  she  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  advice,  probably  with  the 
view  to  their  being  more  perfectly  verified.     Among  other  things, 
sne  promised  us  a  great  deal  of  lightning  soon  ;  a  promise  which 
you  would  naturally  enough  suppose,  meant  nothing  more  thar 
one  of  our  summer  afternoon  thunder  storms,  which,  by  the  way 
are  terrible  enough." 

"  What  else  should  she  mean  ?" 

"  Her  lightning  signified  the  arrows  of  the  Yemassees.  In  thia 
way,  they  figure  the  rapidity  and  the  danger  attending  the  flight 
of  their  long  shafts.  The  promise  tallied  wejl  with  the  counsel 


THE    YEMASSEE.  121 

of  Sanutee.  who    advised   me   yesterday    to   be   off  in    the   big 
oanoe." 

"  Which  advice  you  decline — you  propose  still  to  continue  here, 
my  lord — Captain  Harrison,  I  mean,"  replied  Sir  Edmund. 

"Of  God's  surety,  I  will,  Sir  Edmund.  Can  I  else  now?  I 
must  watch  this  movement  as  well  as  I  can,  and  make  our  people 
generally ytlo  so,  or  the  tomahawk  and  fire  will  sweep  them  off  in  a 
single  night.  Apart  from  that,  you  know  this  sort  of  adventure  is 
a  pleasure  to  me,  and  there  is  a  something  of  personal  interest  in 
some  of  my  jourueyiugs,  which  I  delight  to  see  ripen." 

Bellinger  smiled,  and  Harrison  continued  with  an  air  of  the 
most  perfect  business — 

"  But  speed  on  your  journey,  gentlemen — the  sooner  the  better. 
Make  the  best  of  your  way  to  Charleston,  but  trust  not  to  cross  the 
land  as  you  came.  Keep  from  the  woods  ;  for  the  journey  that 
way  is  a  slow  one,  and  if  things  turn  out  as  I  fear,  they  will  swarm 
before  long  with  enemies,  even  to  the  gates  of  Charleston.  Do  me 
grace  to  place  these  despatches  safely  wi^h  their  proper  trusts.  The 
assembly  will  read  them  in  secret.  This  to  the  lieutenant-governor, 
who  will  act  upon  it  immediately.  Despatch  now,  gentlemen — I  have 
hired  a  boat,  which  Granger  will  procure  for  you  from  Grimstead." 

The  commissioners  were  soon  prepared  for  travel,  and  took  their 
departure  at  once  for  the  city.  Granger,  after  they  had  gone, 
returned  to  the  conference  with  Harrison  at  the  Chiefs  Bluff, 
where  the  latter  continued  to  linger. 

u  Have  you  seen  Hector  ?"  asked  the  latter. 

"  I  have  not,  sir." 

"Indeed.  Strange!  He  had  a  charge  from  me  yesterday  to 
take  the  track  of  a  sea-faring  fellow,  whom  I  encountered,  and  of 
whom  I  had  suspicions — after  that,  he  was  told  to  cross  over,  and 
give  you  intelligence  of  my  being  here." 

"  I  have  seen  nothing  of  him." 

"  The  blockhead  has  plunged  into  trap  then,  I  doubt  not.     Con-\ 
found  him,  for  a  dull  beast.     To  be  absent  at  this  time,  wnen  I  so 
much  want  him." 

Whil«  Harrison  thus  vented  his  anger  and  disquiet,  Granger, 
suddenly  recollecting  that  he  had  been  hailed  tLe  afternoon  before, 


122  THE    YEMASSEE. 

by  some  one  in  a  boat>  as  he  was  proceeding  rapidly  to  join  the 
commissioners  in  Pocota-ligo — though  without  knowing  the  voice 
or  hearing  it  repeated — now  related  the  circumstance,  and  at  once 
satisfied  the  person  he  addressed  of  the  correctness  of  his  appre 
hensions. 

"  Ha — he  is  then  in  that  sailor's  clutches.  But  he  shall  disgorge 
him.  I'll  not  lose  Hector,  on  any  terms.  He's  the  very  prince  of 
oody  servants,  and  loves  me,  I  verily  believe,  as  I  do  my  mistress. 
He  must  not  suffer.  Look  forth,  Granger,  you  have  sharp  eyes — 
look  forth,  and  say  what  you  think  of  the  craft,  lying  there  at  the 
Broad-bend." 

"  I  have  watched  her,  sir,  for  the  last  hour,  but  can't  say  for 
certain  what  to  think.  It  is  easier  to  say  what  she  is  not,  than 
what  she  is." 

"  That  will  do — say  what  she  is  not,  and  I  can  readily  satisfy 
myself  as  to  what  she  is." 

"  She  has  no  colours — her  paint's  fresh,  put  on  since  she  has 
been  in  these  waters.  She  is  not  a  Spaniard,  sir,  nor  is  she  English, 
that's  certain." 

"  Well,  what  next,  Sir  Sagacity  ? " 

The  trader  paused  a  few  moments,  as  if  to  think,  then,  with 
an  assured  manner,  and  vvithont  seeming  to  annex  any  great  im 
portance  to  the  communication  which  he  made,  he  dryly  replied — 

"Why,  sir,  she's  neither  one  thing  nor  another  in  look,  but  a 
mixture  of  till.  Now,  when  that's  the  case  in  the  look  of  a  vessel, 
it's  a  sign  that  the  crew  is  a  mixture,  and  that  there  is  no  one  per 
son  regulating.  It's  left  to  them  to  please  their  taste  in  most 
things,  and  so  that  paint  seems  put  on  as  if  Dutch  and  French, 
Spanish  and  Portuguese,  and  English,  all  had  some  hand  in  it. 
There's  yellow  and  black,  red  and  green,  and  all  colours,  I  make 
out,  where  no  one  nation  would  employ  more  than  one  or  two  of 
them." 

u  Well,  what  do  you  infer  from  all  that  ? " 

"  I  think,  sir,  she's  a  pirate,  or  what's  no  better,  a  Spanish 
guarda-costa." 

"  The  devil  you  do,  and  Hector  is  in  her  jaws !  But  what  other 
reasons  have  you  for  this  opinion  ? " 


THE    YEMASSEE.  123 

"  What  is  she  doing  here — having  no  intercourse  with  the 
people — keeping  oft"  from  the  landing — showing  no  colours,  and 
yet  armed  to  the  teeth  ?  If  there  be  nothing  wrong,  sir,  why  this 
concealment  and  distance  ?  " 

"  You/juinp  readily  and  with  some  reason  to  a  conclusion,  Gran 
ger,  and  you  may  be  right.  Now  hear  my  thought.  That  vessel 
comes  from  St.  Augustine,  and  brings  arms  to  the  Yeinassees,  and 
urges  on  this  very  insurrection  of  which  you  had  a  taste  last 
night." 

"  Very  likely,  and  she  may  be  a  pirate,  too.  They  are  thick 
about  the  coast." 

'•'  Ay,  Granger,  as  the  contents  of  some  of  your  packages  might 
tell  if  they  had  tongues,"  said  Harrison,  with  a  smile. 

"  God  forbid,  captain,"  exclaimed  the  trader,  with  a  simple 
gravity  which  rose  into  honest  dignity  as  he  continued — "  I  can 
skuw  bills  for  all  my  goods,  from  worthy  citizens  in  Charleston  and 
elsewhere." 

"  No  matter ;  I  charge  you  not.  But  you  may  be  right.  To 
be  a  pirate  and  a  Spaniard  are  not  such  distinct  matters,  and  now 
I  think  with  you,  the  probability  is,  she  is  both.  But  what  I 
mean  to  say,  Granger,  is  this — that  she  comes  here  now  with  no 
mere  piratical  intent,  but  to  serve  other  and  perhaps  worse  pur 
poses — else,  what  keeps  her  from  plundering  the  shore  1 " 

"The  best  reason- in  the  world,  sir;  it's  a  long  reach  she  must 
go  through  before  she  safe  y  keels  the  sea.  It's  slow  work  to  get 
from  the  bay  of  the  Broad,  and  a  wind  takes  its  pleasure  in  coming 
to  fill  up  a  sail  in  this  crooked  water.  Let  them  once  do  what 
they  came  for,  and  make  the  coast,  then  look  out  for  the  good 
merchantmen  who  find  their  way  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico." 

"  Well,  whether  Spaniard,  or  pirate,  or  Dutch  Flyaway,  we  must 
get  Uector  out  of  her  jaws,  if  it's  only  to  keep  him  a  gentleman, 
and — but  stay,  she  drops  a  boat.  Do  you  make  out  who  cornea 
m  it?" 

"  Two  men  pull — n 

"  Certain.     Who  again,  Mercury  ? " 

"  A  bluff,  stout  fellow,  sits  astern,  wears  a  blue  jacket,  and — " 

"  A  gold  chain  2 " 


124  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  He  does,  sir,  with  thick-hanging  shining  buttons." 

"  The  same.     That's  Hercules." 

"  Who,  sir  ?  " 

"  Hercules  or  Ajax,  I  don't  remember  which.  I  gave  him  one 
or  other,  or  both  names  yesterday,  and  shall  probably  find  another 
for  him  to-day ;  for  I  must  have  Hector  out  of  him  !  He  shapes 
for  the  shore — does  he  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  from  his  present  course,  he  will  make  the  parson's 
landing." 

"  JIa  !  say  you  so,  most  worthy  trader  ?  Well,  we  shall  be  at 
the  meeting."  "  Yes,"  muttered  the  speaker,  rather  to  himself 
than  to  his  companion — "  we  shall  be  at  the  meeting  !  He'  must 
riot  look  upon  my  pretty  Bess  without  seeing  the  good  fortune 
which  the  fates  yield  her,  in  the  person  of  her  lover.  We  shall 
be  there,  Granger ;  and,  not  to  be  unprovided  with  the  means  for 
effecting  the  escape  of  Hector,  let  us  call  up  some  of  our  choice 
spirits — some  of  the  Green  Foresters — they  know  the  signal  of 
their  captain,  and,  thanks  to  fortune,  I  left  enough  for.  the  purpose 
at  the  smithy  of  Dick  Grimstead.  Come,  man  of  wares  and  mer 
chandises — be  packing." 

Leading  the  way  from  the  hill,  Harrison,  followed  by  Granger, 
descended  to  the  level  forest  about  a  mile  off,  in  the  immediate 
rear  of  the  Block  House,  and,  placing  his  hunting  horn  to  his  lips, 
he  sounded  it  thrice  with  a  deep  clear  note$  which  called  up  a 
dozen  echoes  from  every  dell  in  the  surrounding  woods.  The  sounds 
had  scarcely  ceased  to  reverberate  before  they  were  replied  to,  in  a 
long  and  mellow  roll,  from  one,  seemingly  a  perfect  master  of  the 
instrument,  who,  even  after  the  response  had  been  given,  poured 
forth  a  generous  blast,  followed  by  a  warbling  succession  of 
cadences,  melting  away  at  last  into  a  silence  which  the  ear,  having 
carefully  treasured  up  the  preceding  notes,  almost  refused  to 
acknowledge.  From  another  point  in  the  woods,  a  corresponding 
strain  thrice  repeated,  followed  soon  after  the  first,  and  announced 
an  understanding  among  the  parties,  to  which  the  instrument  had 
been  made  ably  subservient. 

"These  are  my  Green  Jackets,  Granger;  you  have  made 
money  out  of  that  colour,  my  Plutus — my  own  green  jacket 


THE    YEMASSEE.  125 

boys,  true  as  steel,  and  swift  as  an  Indian  arrow.  Come,  let 
us  bury  ourselves  a  little  deeper  in  the  thick  woods,  where,  in 
half  an /hour,  you  may  see  a  dozen  of  the  same  colouV  at  the 
gathering." 


CHATTER    XIV 

"  I  kaow  thee,  though  the  world's  strife  on  thy  bnw» 
H»th  beaten  strangely.     Altered  to  the  eye 
Methinks  I  look  upon  the  self-same  man, 
With  nature  all  unchanged  '* 

THE  boat  from  the  unknown  vessel  reached  the  point  jutting  out 
into  the  river,  in  front  of  the  dwelling  of  the  old  pastor ;  and  the 
seaman,  already  more  than  once  introduced  to  our  notice,  leaving 
the  two  men  in  charge  of  it,  took  his  way  to  the  habitation  in 
question.  The  old  man  received  the  stranger  witli  all  the  hospita 
lities  of  the  region,  and  ushered  him  into  the  presence  of  his  fam- 
Jy  with  due  courtesy,  though  as  a  stranger.  The  seaman  seeing  1 
evidently  to  constrain  himself  while  surveying  the  features  of  the 
inmates,  which  he  did  with  some  curiosity;  and  had  Harrison  been 
present,  he  might  have  remarked,  with  some  dissatisfaction,  the 
long,  earnest,  and  admiring  gaze  which,  in  this  survey,  the  beauti 
ful  features  of  Bess  Matthews  were  made  to  undergo,  to  her  own 
evident  disquiet.  After  some  little  chat,  with  that  bluff,  free,  hearty 
manner  which  is  the  happy  characteristic  of  the  seafaring  man, — 
the  frankness,  in  some  degree,  relieving  the  roughness  of  the  man's 
speech  and  manner, — the  stranger  contrived  to  remove  much  of 
the  unfavourable  impression  which  his  gross  and  impudent  cast  of 
face  had  otherwise  made;  and,  in  reply  to  a  natural  inquiry  of  tire 
pastor,  he  gave  a  brief  account  of  the  nature  of  his  pursuits  in  that 
quarter.  A  close  and  scrutinizing  legal  mind  might  have  picked 
out  no  small  number  of  flaws  in  the  yarn  which  he  spun*,  yet  to  the 
unsophisticated  sense  of  the  little  family,  the  story  was  straight 
forward  and  clear  enough.  The  trade  in  furs,  and  skins,  usually 
carried  on  with  the  Indians,  was  well  known  to  be  exceedingly 
valuable  in  many  of  the  European  markets ;  and,  with  this  declared 
object  the  seaman  accounted  for  his  presence  in  a  part  of  the  wor!<|, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  127 

not  ofteiy  hoiioured  with  the  visit  of  a  vessel  of  so  much  pretension 
as  that  which  he  commanded.  From  one  thing  to  another,  with  a 
fluent,  dashing  sort  of  speech,  he  went  on — now  telling  of  his  own, 
and  now  of  the  adventures  of  others,  and,  bating  an  occasional  oath, 
which  invariably  puckered  up  the  features  of  the  old  Puritan,  he 
contrived  to  make  himself  sufficiently  agreeable,  and  after  a  very 
passable  fashion.  Bessy  did  not,  it  is  true,  incline  the  ear  after  the 
manner  of  Desdemona  to  her  Blackamoor;  but  in  the  anecdote, 
of  adventure,  which  every  now  and  then  enriched  the  rambling 
speech  of  their  guest,  either  in  the  tale  of  his  own,  or  of  the  achieve 
ments  of  others,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  simple  girl  found 
much,  in  spite  of  herself,  to  enlist  her  \curiosity  and  command  her 
attention.  Nor  was  he  less  influenced  by  her  presence  than  she  by 
nis  narrative.  Though  spoken  generally,  much  of  his  conversation 
was  seemingly  addressed  in  espetial  to  the  maiden.  With  this  ob 
ject,  lie  sprinkled  his  story  with  the  wonders  of  the  West  Indies, 
with  all  of  which  he  appeared  familiar — spoke  of  its  luscious  fruits 
and  balmy  climate — its  groves  of  lemon  and  of  orange — its  dark- 
eyed  beauties,  and  numerous  productions  of  animal  and  vegetable 
life.  Then  of  its  gold  and  jewels,  the  ease  of  their  attainment,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  which  the  vulgar  mind  would  be  apt  to  sup 
pose  exceedingly  attractive  and  overcoming  to  the  weak  one.  Hav 
ing  said  enough,  as  he  thought,  fairly  and  fully  to  dazzle  the  ima 
gination  of  the  girl — and,  secure  now  of  a  favourable  estimate  of 
himself,  he  drew  from  his  bosom  a  little  casket,  containing  a  rich 
gold  chain  of  Moorish  filigree  work,  arabesque  wrought,  and  pro 
bably  a  spoil  of  Grenada,  and  pressed  it  on  her  acceptance.  Her 
quick  and  modest,  but  firm  rejection  of  the  proffered  gift,  compelled 
the  open  expression  of  his  astonishment. 

"  And  wherefore  not — young  lady  ?  The  chain  is  not  unbecom 
ing  for  the  neck,  though  that  be  indeed  the  whitest.  Now,  the 
girls  of  Spain,  with  a  skin  nothing  to  be  compared  with  yours,  they 
wear  such  necklaces  as  thick  as  grape  vines.  Come,  now — don't 
be  shy  and  foolish.  The  chain  is  rich,  and  worth  a  deal  of  money. 
Let  me  lock  it  now  about  your  neck.  You  will  look  like  a  queen 
in  it — a  queen  of  all  the  Indies  could  not  look  more  so." 

But  the  sailor  blundered  grossly.     Bess  Matthews  was  a  thinking, 


128  THE    YEMASSEE. 

feeling  woman,  and  lie  addressed  her  as  a  child.  She  had  now 
recovered  from  the  interest  which  she  had  shown  while  he  narrated 
adventures  which  excited  her  imagination,  and  set  her  fancy  in 
glow  ; — conjuring  up  and  putting  into  activity  many  of  those 
wondrous  dreams  which  the  young  romancer  has  so  ready  at  all 
times  in  thought — and  she  soon  convinced  him  that  he  had  gre;tlly 
mistaken  her,  when  he  was  so  willing  to  transfer  to  himself  the 
attention  which  she  had  simply  yielded  to  his  stories,  lie  began 
to  discover  that  he  had  mistaken  his  person,  when  he  beheld  the 
alteration  in  her  tone  and  manner  ;  and  sunk  uway,  somewhat 
abashed,  at  the  lofty  air  with  which  she  rejected  the  gift,  and  re 
sented  the  impertinent  familiarity  of  his  offer.  But,  his  discourage 
ment  was  only  for  a  moment.  He  soon  recovered  his  confidence. 
If  he  had  surprised  the  daughter  by  his  freedom,  he  was  soon  to 
astonish  the  father.  Suddenly  turning  to  the  old  man,  he  said 
abruptly : — 

"  Why,  Matthews,  you  have  made  your  daughter  as  great  a  saint 
as  yourself.  Ha  !  I  see  you  stagger.  Didn't  know  me,  eh  !  Didn't 
remember  your  old  parish  acquaintance,  Dick  Chorley." 

The  pastor  looked  at  him  with  some  interest,  but  with  more 
seeming  commiseration.  * 

"  And  are  you  the  little  Richard  ?" 

"  Little,  indeed — that's  a  good  one.  I  was  once  little,  and  little 
enough,  when  you  knew  me, — but  I  am  big  enough  now,  John 
Matthews,  to  have  myself  righted  when  wrong  is  done  me.  It  is 
not  now,  that  the  parish  beadle  can  flog  little  Dick  Chorley.  Not 
now,  by  thunder  ! — and  it's  been  a  sore  sorrow  with  some  of  them, 
I  think,  that  it  ever  was  the  case." 

"  Well  Richard,  I'm  glad  to  find  you  so  much  better  off  in  the 
world,  and  with  a  better  disposition  to  work  for  yourself  honestly, 
than  in  old  times,"  said  the  pastor  gravely. 

"  Hark  ye,  Matthews — no  more  of  that.  That's  as  it  may  be. 
Perhaps  I'm  better — perhaps  I'm  not.  It's  none  of  your  business 
either  one  way  or  the  other  ;  and  to  look  back  too  closely  into  old 
time  doings,  ain't  a  friend's  part,  I'm  thinking.  Blast  me !  old 
man,  but  you  had  nearly  made  me  forget  myself;  and  I  wouldn't 
like  to  say  rough  things  to  you  or  any  of  yours,  for  I  can't  but 


, 


THE   YEMASSEE.  129 


remember  you  were  always  more  kind  to  me  than  the  rest,  ana  il 
I  had  minded  you  I  might  have  done  better.  But  what's  done 
can't  be  undone,  and  the  least  said  is  soonest  mended." 

"  I  meant  not  to  speak  harshly,  Richard,  when  I  spoke  of  the 
past,"  said  the  pastor,  mildly,  "  but  the  exile  finds  it  sweet  to  re 
member,  even  those  thing*  which  were  sonows  in  his  own  land. 
I  find  it  so  with  me  ;  and  though,  to  speak  plainly,  Richard,  I 
would  rather  not  see  you  to  know  you  as  of  old,  yet  the  recognition 
of  your  person,  for  a  moment,  gave  me  a  sentiment  of  pleasure." 

"  And  why  should  it  not  — and  why  should  it  not  ?  Blast  me  ! 
old  man,  but  you  don't  think  I'm  the  same  ragged  urchin  that  the 
,  parish  fed  and  flogged — that  broke  his  master's  head,  and  was  the 
laughing-stock  and  the  scapegoat  of  every  gentleman  rascal  in  the 
shire  ? — no,  no.  The  case  is  changed  now,  and  if  I'm  no  better, 
I'm  at  least  an  abler  man  ;  and  that  stands  for  right  and  morality  all 
the  world  over.  I'm  doing  well  in  the  world,  Matthews — drive  a 
good  trade — own  a  half  in  as  handsome  a  clipper  as  ever  swum  in 
the  blue  waters  of  the  gulf ;  and,  if  the  world  will  let  me,  I  shall 
probably  in  little  time  be  as  good — that  is  to  say  as  rich  a  man — 
as  any  of  them.  If  they  won't,  they  must  look  out  for  themselves, 
that's  all." 

"  One  thing  pleases  me,  at  least,  Richard,"  said  the  pastor, 
gravely,  "  and  that  is  to  find  your  pursuits  such  that  you  need  not 
be  ashamed  of  them.  This  should  give  you  an  honest  pride,  as  it 
certainly  yields  me  great  pleasure." 

There  was  rather  more  of  inquiry  than  of  remark  in  this  obser 
vation,  and  Chorley  saw  it. 

"  Ay,  ay,  if  it  pleases  you,  I'm  satisfied.     You  are  a  good  judge 
of  what's  right,  and-  can  say.     For  my  part,  I  make  it  a  rule  to  ' 
boast  nothing  of.  my  virtue.     It  takes  the  polish  off  a  good  action 
to  turn  it  over  too  often  in  one's  mouth." 

There  was  a  satirical  chuckle  following  the  speech  of  the  sailor 
which  the  pastor  did  not  seem  to  relish.  It  seemed  to  sneer  at  the 
joint  homilies  which  they  had  been  uttering.  The  dialogue  was 
changed  by  the  pastor. 

"  And  where  is  your  mother  now,  Richard  ?" 

"  Ask  the  parish  church-yard — it  has  ore  #rave  more,  that  I  can 


130  THE    YEMASSEE. 

swear  for,  than  when  you  left  it ;  and,  though  I'm  bad  at  grammar 
I  could  read  the  old  woman's  Dame  upon  the  stick  at  the  head. 
When  she  died  I  came  off.  1  couldn't  stand  it  then,  though  I 
stood  it  well  enough  before.  They  have  not  seen  me  since,  nor  I 
them — and  there's  no  love  lost  between  us.  If  I  eve^  ^o  back,  it 
will  be  to  see  the  old  beadle  and  that  grave-stick." 

"  I  hope  you  harbour  no  malice,  Richard,  against  the  man  for 
doing  his  duty  ?" 

"  Ilis  duty  ?" 

"  Yes,  his  duty.  He  was  the  officer  of  the  law,  and  compelled 
to  do  what  he  did.  Wherefore  then  would  you  go  back  to  see 
him,  simply — and  why  do  you  strangely  couple  him  in  your  me 
mory  with  your  mother's  grave  ?" 

"  Ha  !  that's  it.  He  broke  her  heart  by  his  treatment  to  me, 
and  I  would  break  his  scull  upon  her  grave  as  a  satisfaction  to 
both  of  us.  I  did  wrong  when  a  boy,  that's  like  enough,  for  older 
people  did  wrong  daily  about  me  ;  but  was  my  public  disgrace  to 
cure  me  of  my  wrong  ?  They  put  me  in  the  stocks,  then  expected 
me  to  be  a  good  citizen.  Wise  enough.  I  tell  you  what,  Matthews, 
I've  seen  something  more  of  the  world  than  you,  though  you've 
s.een  more  years  than  I ;  and  mark  my  word  !  whenever  a  man 
becomes  a  bad  man — a  thief,  an  outlaw,  or  a  murderer — his  neigh 
bours  have  to  thank  themselves  for  three-fourths  of  the  teachings 
that  have  made  him  so.  But  this  is  enough  on  this  talk.  Let 
us  say  something  now  of  yourself — and  first,  how  do  you  like  this 
part  of  the  world  ?" 

"  As  well  as  can  be  expected.  I  am  indifferent  to  any  other, 
and  I  have  quiet  here,  which  I  had  not  always  in  the  turbulent 
changes  of  England.  My  family  too  are  satisfied,  and  their  con 
tentment  makes  the  greater  part  of  mine." 

"  You'd  find  it  better  and  pleasanter  in  Florida.  I  drive  a  good 
business  there  with  the  Spaniard.  I'm  rather  one  myself  now, 
and  carry  his  flag,  though  I  trade  chiefly  on  my  own  log." 

The  dialogue  was  here  broken  in  upon  by  the  entrance  of  Har 
rison,  who,  in  spite  of  the  cold  courtesies  of  the  pastor,  and  the 
downcast  reserve  in  the  eyes  of  Bess  Matthews,  yet  joined  the 
little  group  with  the  composure  of  one  perfectly  satisfied  of  the 
moal  cordial  reception. 


XV. 

u  Tliou  ihalt  disgorge  thy  prey,  give  up  thy 
And  yield  thee  prisoner.     Tha  time  im  short, 
Make  thy  speech  fitting." 

BEFORE  resuming  with  these  parties,  let  "us  retire  to  the  green 
wood  with  Harrison  and  the  trader.  We  have  heard  the  merry 
horn  of  his  comrades  responding  freely  to  that  of  the  former. 
"  You  shall  see  them,"  said  he  to  Granger — "  brave  fellows  and 
true,  and  sufficient  for  my  purpose.  I  can  rely  upon  Grim  stead,  the 
smith,  and  his  brother,  certainly,  for  I  left  them  but  a  couple  ot 
hours  ago  at  the  smithy.  Theirs  was  the  first  answer  we  heard. 
I  know  not  who  comes  the  second,  but  I  look  forWat  Grayson  from 
that  quarter,  and  sure  enough,  he  is  here,  lla  !  Grayson,  you  are  true 
and  in  time,  as  usual.  I  give  you  welcome,  for  I  want  your  arm." 

"And  at  your  service,  captain,  to  strike  deer  or  enemy,  for  fight 
or  labour.  Ha !  Granger — but  you  have  forgotten  my  knife,  which 
I've  sorely  wanted." 

"  It  is  here,  at  the  Block  House,  ready  for  you." 

"  Good !  Well,  captain,  what's  the  sei  vice  now  ?  I'm  ready,  you  see, 
and  glad  that  you  feel  able  to  count  so  free  upon  Wat  Grayson." 

"  You  shall  soon  see,  Grayson.  I  wait  for  but  a  few  more  of 
the  boys,  to  show  you  the  work  before  us;  and  in  order  not  to 
waste  more  time,  wind  your  horn,  and  let  the  men  corne  freely." 

The  horn  was  wound  again,  and  but  a  few  seconds  had  elapsed 
when  a  distant  reply  from  two  other  quarters  acknowledged  the 
summons.  In  a  few  moments  the  sturdy  blacksmith,  Grimstead 
followed  by  his  younger  brother,  penetrated  the  little  area,  which 
was  the  usual  place  of  assemblage.  A  moment  after,  a  bustling 
little  body,  known  as  Dr.  Nichols,  the  only  medical  man  in  that 
region,  also  entered  the  ring,  mounted  upon  a  little  ambling 
pony,  or  tacky  from  the  marsh — a  sturdy  little  animal  in  much 
use,  though  of  repute  infinitely  below  its  merits. 


132  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Ha  1  doctor — our  worthy  Esculapius  —how  fares  it  ?  You 
come  in  time,  for  we  look  to  have  some  bones  for  your  setting 
before  long,"  exclaimed  Harrison,  addressing  him. 

"Captain  Harrison,"  responded  the  little  professional,  with  a 
most  imposing  manner,  "  it  gives  me  pleasure  at  any  moment  to  do 
my  country  service.  I  am  proud  that  my  poor  ability  may  be 
called  into  exercise,  though  I  should  rather  have  you  invoke  my 
personal  than  professional  offices." 

"  We  shall  need  both,  doctor,  most  probably.  We  must  first 
risk  our  bones  before  the  surgeon  may  hope  to  handle  them  ;  ana 
in  doing  so,  have  no  scruple  that  he  should  risk  his  along 
with  us." 

"  And  wherefore,  may  I  ask,  Captain  Harrison  ?" 

"  Simply,  doctor,  that  he  may  be  taught  a  due  lesson  of 
sympathy,  by  his  own  hurts,  which  shall  make  him  tender  of 
ours.  But  we  are  slow.  Who  have  we  here  to  count  on  for  a 
brush  ?" 

"  Count  on  Dick  Grimstead,  captain,  and  you  may  put  down 
Tom  with  him  ;  but  not  as  doctors. — I'm  not  for  the  doctoring, 
captain." 

"  Irreverend  fellow  1 "  muttered  Nichols. 

Harrison  laughed,  and  proceeded  to  enumerate  and  arrange  his 
men,  who  soon,  including  himself  and  Granger,  amounted  to 
seven.  He  himself  carried  pistols,  and  the  short  German  rifle 
already  described.  The  rest  had  generally  either  the  clumsy  mus 
kets  of  the  time,  or  the  tomahawk,  an  instrument  almost  as  formi 
dable,  and  certainly  quite  as  necessary  in  the  forests.  Some  of 
them  were  dressed  in  tbe  uniform  of  the  "  green-jackets,"  the 
corps  which  had  been  raised  by  Harrison  in  the  Coosaw  war,  and 
which  he  commanded.  Though  ignorant  entirely  of  his  character 
and  pursuits,  yet  his  successful  heading  of  them^in  tha^t  sudden 
insurrection,  at  a  moment  of  great  emergency,  not  less  than  the 
free,  affable,  and  forward  manner  which  characterized  him,  had 
endeared  him  to  them  generally  ;  and,  unlike  the  pastor,  they  were 
content  with  this  amount  of  their  knowledge  of  one  whom  they 
had  learned  not  less  to  love  than  to  obey. 

Harrison  looked   round   upon   his  boys,  as  he  called  them,  not 


THE     YEMASSEE.  133 

heeding  sundry  efforts  which  Nichols  made  to  command  his  atten- 
4  ion.     Suddenly  addressing  Gray  son,  he  asked — 

"  Where's  Murray  ? " 

"  Sick,  captain — on  the  flat  of  his  back,  or  I  had  brought  him 
with  me.  He  lies  sick  at  Joe  Gibbons',  up  by  Bates',  where  he's 
been  running  up  a  new  house  for  Gibbons." 

"  He  must  come  from  that,  Grayson.  It  is  too  far  from  the 
Block  House  for  any  of  them,  and  for  a  sick  man  it  will  be  hope- 
'ess,  if  there  should  be  war.  He  is  not  safe  there,  Grayson,  you 
must  move  him." 

"That's  impossible,  captain.  He  can't  move, he's  down  flat  with 
the  fever." 

"  Then  you  must  bring  him  off  on  your  shoulders,  or  get  a  cart, 
for  he  is  not  safe  where  he  is.  There  is  clanger  of  insurrection 
here.  The  Yemassees  are  at  mischief,  and  we  shall,  before  very 
long,  have  the  war-whoop  ringing  in  our  ears.  We  must  clear  the 
borders  of  our  people,  or  the  Yemassees  will  do  it  for  us." 

"  And  I'm  ready,  captain,  as  soon  as  they,"  exclaimed  Grayson  ; 
"  and  that's  the  notion  of  more  than  Wat  Grayson.  The  boys 
generally,  long  for  something  to  do ;  and,  as  we  go  up  the  river, 
the  Indians  get  too  monstrous  impudent  to  be  borne  with  much 
longer." 

"True,  Grayson — but  we  must  wait  their  pleasure.  I  only  i;'ivc 
you  my  suspicions,  and  they  amount  to  nothing,  so  long'  as  t'u' 
Yemassees  profess  peace." 

"Oh,  hang  their  professions,  captain,  say  I.  I  don't  see  \\liv 
we  should  wait  on  them  to  begin  the  brush,  seeing  it  must  be  be 
gun.  There's  nothing  like  a  dash  forward,  when  you  see  you  have, 
to  go.  That's  my  notion ;  and,  say  but  the  word,  we'll  catch  the 
weazel  asleep  when  he  thinks  to  catch  us.  All  our  boys  are  ready 
for  it,_and  a  ring  of  the  horn  round  Alligator  Swamp  will  bring  a 
dozen;  and  by  night  we  could  have  Dick  Mason,  and  Spragg,  and 
Baynton,  who  have  gone  up  to  the  new  clearing  upon  the  fork  of 
Tuliffinee." 

*"  It  is  well,"  said  Harrison,  "  that  you  should  be  ready,  but  it 
is  for  the  council  to  make  war  and  peace, — not  for  us.  We  can 
onlv  nrovide  for  our  defence  in  case  of  assault,  and  against  it  i 


134  THE    YEMASSEE. 

want  to  prepare  you,  for  I  greatly  apprehend  it.  But,  in  the  mean 
time,  I  have  another  job  for  execution." 

Nichols,  now  finding  a  favourable  moment,  in  his  usual  swelling 
manner,  addressed  Harrison  and  the  company.  Nichols,  we  may 
mention,  is  an  incipient  demagogue ;  one  of  an  old  school,  the 
duties  of  which,  under  the  hotbed  fosterings  of  our  benign  institu- 
ions,  have  largely  increased  the  number  of  its  pupils  since  his  day. 
His  hearers  knew  him  well.  His  vanities  were  no  new  things  to 
lis  present  companions. 

"  Captain  Harrison,  understand  me.  I  protest  my  willingness 
o  volunteer  in  any  matter  for  the  good  of  the  people.  It  is  the 
•art  of  the  true^  patriot  to  die  for  the  people,  and  Fin  willing  when 
ttie  time  comes.  Prepare  the  block,  unsheath  the  sword,  and 
provide  the  executioner, — and  I,  Constantine  Maximilian  Nichols, 
medical  doctor,  well  assured  that  in  my  death  I  shall  save  my 
country,  will  freely  yield  up  my  poor  life,  even  as  the  noble 
Decius  of  old,  for  the  securing  of  so  great  a  blessing  for  our 
people.  But,  captain,  it  must  be  clear  to  my  mind  that  the 
necessity  is  such,  the  end  to  be  attained  is  of  so  great  moment,  that 
the  means  to  be  employed  are  warranted  by  the  laws,  in  letter  and 
in  spiiit.  Speak,  therefore,  captain,  the  design  before  us.  Let  me 
hear  your  purpose — let  my  mind  examine  into  its  bearings  and  its 
tendencies,  and  I  will  then  declare  myself." 

Hanison,  who  knew  the  doctor  quite  as  well  as  his  neighbours, 
with  singular  composure  preserved  his  gravity,  while  the  foresters 
laughed  aloud.  He  answered  : 

"  Come  with  us,  Constantine  Maximilian — your  own  mind  shall 
judge." 

He  led  the  party  to  the  Chief's  Bluff,  and  from  the  eminence  he 
pointed  out  to  them  at  a  little  distance  below,  where  lay  the  boat 
of  the  schooner ;  one  of  the  seamen  was  to  be  seen  rambling  upon  the 
land  at  a  little  distance  from  it,  while  the  other  lay  in  its  bottom. 

"  Now,  Constantine,"  said  he,  "  behold  those  men.  I  want 
them  secured,  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  kept  until  farther  orders." 

"  Show  me,  Captain  Harrison,  that  the  peace  of  the  country,  the 
lives  of  my  fellow-countrymen,  or  the  liberties  of  the  people,  depend 
apon  the  measure,  and  I  am  ready  to  yield  up  my  life  in  the  at- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  185 

tainment  of  your  object.  Until  you  do  this,  captain,- 1  decline ; 
and  must  furthermore  lift  up  my  voice  in  adjuration  to  those  about 
me,  against  acting  as  you  counsel,  doing  this  great  wrong  to  the 
men  whom  you  have  singled  out  for  bondage,  depriving  them  of 
their  liberties,  and  possibly  their  lives." 

"  You  are  scrupulous,  doctor,  and  we  shall  have  to  do  without 
you.  We  shall  certainly  secure  those  two  men,  though  we  medi 
tate  nothing  against  the  liberties  of  the  people." 

"  I  shall  warn  them  by  my  voice  of  your  design  upon  them,' 
was  the  dogged  resolve  of  the  doctor. 

"  Of  God's  surety,  if  you  dare,  Nichols,  I  shall  tumble  you 
headlong  from  the  bluff,"  sternly  responded  Harrison ;  and  the 
patriot — to  whom  the  declamation  was  of  itself  the  only  object 
aimed  at,  constituting  the  chief  glory  in  his  desire — acknowledged, 
while  shrinking  back,  that  the  threat  offered  quite  a  new  view  of 
the  case.  With  the  others,  Harrison  found  no  difficulty.  He 
proceeded — 

"  Those  men  must  be  secured — they  are  but  two,  and  you  are  five. 
They  are  without  arms,  so  that  all  you  may  look  for  in  the  affair 
will  be  a  black  eye  or  bloody  nose.  This  will  trouble  neither  of 
you  much,  though  less  ready  than  Constantine  Maximilian  to  die 
for  the  people.  Tumble  the  dogs  into  the  sand  and  rope  them — 
but  do  them  no  more  damage  than  is  necessary  for  that." 

"  Who  are  they,  captain  ?"  asked  Grayson. 

"  Nay,  I  know  not ;  but  they  come  from  that  vessel,  and  what 
she  is  I  know  not.  One  thing  is  certain,  however,  and  hence  my 
proceeding :  in  that  vessel  they  have  safely  packed  away  my  black 
fellow,  Hector." 

"  The  devil  they  have — the  kidnappers  !"  ^ 

"  Ay,  have  they  ;  and  unless  I  get  him  out  they  will  have  him 
in  the  Cuba  market,  and  heaven  knows  how  many  more  besides 
him,  in  twenty  days,  and  we  have  no  vessel  to  contend  with  them. 
Thers  is  but  one  way  to  give  them  a  taste  of  what  they  may  ex 
pert.  You  secure  these  lads,  and  when  you  have  done  so,  bring 
them  round  to  Parson  Matthews,  sound  your  horn,  and  I  shall 
thc.n  do  my  share  of  the  dutv." 

Leaving  them  to  the  performance  of  this  task,  Harrison  went 


136  THE    YEMASSEE. 

forward  to  the  cottage  of  the  pastor ;  while,  headed  by  Grayson; 
the  whole  party,  Nichols  not  excepted,  went  down  the  bluff,  and 
came  by  a  circuitous  route  upon  the  seamen.  One  of  them  slept 
in  the  boat  and  was  secured  without  any  difficulty.  On  opening 
his  eyes,  he  found  himself  closely  grappled  by  a  couple  of  sturdy 
woodsmen,  and  he  did  not  even  venture  to  cry  aloud,  warned  as  he 
had  been  against  such  a  measure,  by  the  judicious  elevation  of  a 
tomahawk  above  his  head.  The  other  fellow  took  to  his  heels  on 
seeing  the  capture  of  his  companion,  but  stood  no  manner  of  chance 
with  the  fleet-footed  foresters.  He  was  soon  caught,  and  Constan- 
tine  Maximilian  Nichols  was  the  most  adroit  of  the  party  in  band 
aging  up  the  arms  of  both,  secundum  Ortem.  Ah  !  if  the  good 
doctor  could  have  been  content  with  one  profession  only !  but  like 
too  many  craving  creatures — who  enjoy  the  appetite  without  know 
ing  how  to  feed — he  aimed  at  popular  favour.  His  speeches  were 
framed  solely  with  that  end,  and  he  accordingly  prated  for  ever,  as 
is  the  familiar  custom  always  among  the  little  cunning,  about  those 
rights  of  man  for  which  he  cared  but  little.  He  was  not  judicious 
in  his  declamation,  however ;  he  professed  quite  too  largely  ;  and, 
in  addition  to  this  misfortune,  it  grew  into  a  faith  among  his  neigh 
bours,  that,  while  his  forms  of  speech  were  full  of  bloodshed  and 
sacrifice,  the  heart  of  the  doctor  was  benevolently  indifferent  to  all 
the  circumstances  and  the  joys  of  strife.  But  the  prisoners  were 
now  secured,  and,  under  close  gu*rd,  were  marched  off,  agreeably 
to  arrangement,  te  th*  oo4Ug*  it  tf 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

4  Tie  the  rash  hand  that  rights  on  the  wild  Ma, 
Or  in  the  desert — violence  is  law, 
And  reason,  where  the  civil  arm  is  weak." 

THE  entrance  of  Harrison,  alone,  into  the  cottage  of  the  pastor, 
put  a  stop  to  the  dialogue  which  had  been  going  on  between  him- 
,self  and  the  seaman.  The  reception  which  the  host  gave  the 
new  comer,  was  simply  and  coldly  courteous — that  of  his  lady 
was  more  grateful,  but  still  constrained ;  as  for  poor  little  Bess, 
she  feared  to  look  up  at  all,  lest  all  eyes  should  see  how  much 
kinder  her  reception  would  have  been.  Harrison  saw  all  this,  but 
the  behaviour  of  the  pastor  seemed  to  have  no  effect  upon  him. 
He  rattled  on  in  his  usual  manner,  though  with  something  of 
loftiness  still,  which  appeared  to  intimate  a  character  of  conde 
scension  in  his  approaches. 

"  Mr.  Matthews,  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  find  you  well — better,  I 
think,  than  when  I  had  the  pleasure  to  see  you  last.  You  see,  I 
tax  your  courtesies,  though  you  could  find  no  relatives  of  mine  in 
Charleston  willing  to  extend  you  theirs.  But  the  time  will  come, 
sir,  and  your  next  visit  may  be  more  fruitful.  Ah  !  Mrs.  Matthews, 
growing  young  again,  surely.  Do  you  know  I  hold  this  climate 
to  be  the  most  delightful  in  the  world, — a  perfect  seat  of  health 
and  youth,  in  which  the  old  Spaniard  John  Ponce,  of  Leon, 
would  certainly  have  corne  nigher  the  blessed  fountain  he  sought, 
than  he  ever  could  have  done  in  Florida.  And  you,  Bess — Miss 
Matthews,  I  mean — still  sweet,  charming  as  ever.  Ah  !  Mrs, 
Matthews,  you  are  thrice  fortunate — always  blessed.  Your  years 
are  all  so  many  summers — for  Providence  leaves  to  your  house 
hold,  in  all  seasons,  one  flower  that  compensates  for  all  the  rest." 

And  thus,  half  playful,  half  serious,  Harrison  severally  ad 
dressed  all  in  the  apartment,  the  sailor  excepted.  That  worthy 
looked  on.  and  listened  with  no  little  astonishment. 


188  .THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  I) — d  easy  to  be  sure,"  he  half  muttered  to  himself.  Harri 
son,  without  distinguishing  the  words,  heard  the  sounds,  and 
readily  compr Jiending  their  tenour  from  the  look  which  accom 
panied  them,  he  turned  as  playfully  to  the  speaker  as  he  had  done 
to  all  the  rest. 

"  And  you,  my  handsome  Hercules — you  here  too  ? — T  left  you 
in  other  company,  when  last  we  met,  and  am  really  not  sorry  that 
you  got  off  without  being  made  to  feel  the  long  arrow  of  the  Ye- 
ma*see.  Pray,  how  came  you  so  fortunate  ?  Few  men  here 
we'ild  have  killed  the  dog  of  an  Indian,  without  looking  for  the 
loss  of  his  scalp,  and  a  broken  head  in  requital.  Give  us  your 
secret,  Hercules  ?" 

"  Look  ye,  young  master — I'm  not  angry,  and  not  going  to  be 
angry,  but  my  name,  as  I  told  you  before,  is  not  Hercules — " 

"  Not  Hercules, — indeed ! — then  it  must  be  Ajax — Ajax  or 
A  ^arneinton.  Well,  you  have  your  choice,  for  you  look  any  of 
jhess  grent.  men  so  well,  that  by  one  or  other  of  their  names,  I 
/.TQust  call  you.  I  could  not  well  understand  you  by  any  other." 

It  seemed  the  policy  of  Harrison,  so  he  appeared  to  think,  to 
provoke  the  person  he  addressed  into  something  like  precipitance, 
suspecting  him,  as  ho  did,  of  a  secret  and  unfriendly  object ;  and 
finding  him  a  choleric  and  rash  person,  he  aimed  so  to  arouse  his 
passion,  as  to  disarm  his  caution  and  defeat  his  judgment ;  but, 
though  Chorley  exhibited  indignation  enough,  yet,  having  his  own 
object,  and  wishing  at  that  moment  to  appear  as  amiable  as  pos- 
siMe,  in  the  presence  of  those  who  knew  him  as  a  different  cha 
racter  b  childhood,  he  moderated  his  manner,  if  not  his  speech, 
to  Ins  situation  and  his  desires.  Still,  his  reply  was  fierce  enough, 
and  much  of  it  muttered  in  an  undertone,  was  heard  only  by  the 
pastor  and  the  person  he  addressed'. 

"  Hark  ye,  sir,  I  don't  know  what  ye  may  be,  and  don't  much 
fiare  ;  but  blast  my  liver,  if  you  don't  mind  your  eyes,  Til  take 
four  ears  off,  and  slit  your  tongue,  or  I'm  no  man.  I  won't  suffer 
my  man  to  speak  to  me  in  this  manner." 

"  Y  u  won't — and  you'll  take  my  ears  off  and  slit  my  tongue. 
VYhy,  Hercules,  you're  decidedly  dangerous..  But  I  shall  not  tax 
your  services  so  far." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  139 

"  Shall  do  it,  though,  by  thunder,  whether  you  like  it  or  not 
You  are  not  two  to  «  ne  now,  youngster,  and  shan't  swing  to-day 
at  my  cost,  as  you  did  yesterday." 

"Pshaw — don't  put  on  your  clouds  arid  thunder  now,  old 
Jupiter — you  look,  for  all  the  world,  at  this  moment,  like  a  pirate 
of  the  gulf,  and  must  certainly  frighten  the  ladies  should  they 
happen  to  look  on  you." 

All  these  speeches  were  made  sotto  voce,  in  an  aside  which  the 
ladies  could  not  hear;  though  it  was  evident,  from  the  manner  of 
both,  that  they  were  uneasy.  The  pastor  fidgeted,  lie  was  very 
much  disturbed.  When  the  last  sentence  of  Harrison  fell  upon 
Chorley's  ears,  he  started  visibly,  and  the  fierceness  of  his  look 
was  mingled  with  one  of  decided  disquiet,  while  the  close,  dark, 
penetrating  eye  of  Harrison  was  fixed  sternly  upon  his  own. 
Before  he  could  recover  in  time  for  a  reply  in  the  same  manner, 
Harrison  went  on,  resuming  all  his  playfulness  of  speech  and  look. 

"  Don't  mean  to  offend,  Hercules,  far  from  it.  But  really,  when 
7  spoke,  your  face  did  wear  a  most  flibustier  sort  of  expression, 
such  as  Black  Beard  himself  might  put  on  while  sacking  a  mer 
chantman,  and  sending  her  crew  along  the  plank." 

"My  name, young  man,  as  I  told  you  before,"  began  the  sailor, 
with  a  look  and  tone  of  forbearance  and  meekness  that  greatly 
awakened  the  sympathies  of  the  pastor,  to  whom  the  playful 
persecution  of  Harrison  had  been  any  thing  but  grateful — "  my 
name  is — " 

But  his  tormentor  interrupted  him — 

"Is  Jupiter  Ammou,  I  know — give  yourself  no  manner  of 
trouble,  I  beg  you." 

"  Master  Harrison,"  said  the  pastor,  gravely,  "  this  is  my  guest, 
and  so  are  you,  and  as  such,  permit  me  to  say  that  mutual  respect 
is  due  to  my  house  and  presence,  if  not  to  one  another.  The 
name  of  this  gentleman  is  Chorley,  Master  Richard  Chorley,  whose 
parents  I  knew  in  England  as  well  as  himself." 

"  Ha !  Chorley — you  knew  him  in  England — Master  Chorley, 
your  servant, — Hercules  no  longer.  You  will  be  pleased  to  for 
give  my  merriment,  which  is  scarce  worth  your  cloud  and  thunder 
storm,  Chorley,  di4  you  say — Chorley— a  good  name- -the  name 


140  THE    YEMASSEE. 

of  a  trader  upon  the  Spanish  Islands.  Raid  I  right  ?"  inquved  the 
speaker,  who  appeared  to  muse  somewhat  abstractedly  ,>v-3r  his 
recent  accession  of  intelligence,  while  addressing  the  se°.nian.  The 
latter  sulkily  assented. 

"  Your  craft  lies  in  the  river,  and  you  come  for  trade.  You 
have  goods,  Master  Chorley — fine  stuffs  for  a  lady's  wear,  and 
jewels — have  you  not  jewels  such  as  would  not  do  discredit  to  a 
neck,  white  and  soft — a  glimpse,  such  as  we  sometimes  have 
through  these  blessed  skies,  of  a  pure,  glorious  heaven  smiling  and 
wooing  beyond  them  ?  Have  you  no  such  befitting  gauds — no 
highly  wrought  gem  and  ornament — in  the  shape  of  cross  and 
chain,  which  a  sharp  master  of  trade  may  have  picked  up,  lying 
at  watch  snugly  among  the  little  Islands  of  the  gulf?" 

"  And  if  I  have  ?"  sullenly  responded  the  seaman. 

"  I  will  buy,  Hercules — Master  Chorley  I  should  say — I  would 
buy  such  a  jewel — a  rich  chain,  or  the  cross  which  the  Spaniard 
worships.  Wouldst  thou  wear  such  a  chain  of  my  giving,  dear 
i  'ess — Miss  Matthews,  I  mean  ?  Thy  neck  needs  no  such  ornament, 
L  know,  no  more  than  the  altar  needs  the  jewel ;  yet  the  worshipper 
finds  a  pleasure  when  he  can  pjace  it  there.  Tell  me,  Miss 
Matthews,  will  you  wear  such  gift  of  my  giving  §" 

Harrison  was  a  person  of  the  strangest  frankness  of  manner. 
The  soliciting  sweetness  of  his  glance,  as  this  was  spoken,  seemed 
to  relieve  it  of  some  of  its  audacity.  He  looked  tenderly  to  her 
eyes  as  he  spoke,  and  the  seaman,  watching  their  mutual  glance, 
with  a  curiosity  which  became  malignant,  soon  discovered  their 
secret,  if  so  it  may  be  called.  Before  his  daughter  could  speak, 
the  old  pastor  sternly  answered  for  her  in  the  negative.  His  feel 
ings  had  grown  more  and  more  uncompromising  and  resentful  at 
very  word  of  the  previous  dialogue.  In  his  eyes,  the  cool  com 
posure  of  Harrison  was  ihe  superb  of  audacity,  particularly  as,  in 
the  previous  interview,  he  thought  he  had  said  and  done  enough 
to  discourage  the  pretensions  of  any  suitor,  and  one  so  utterly 
unknown  to  him  as  the  present.  Not  that  there  was  not  much 
in  all  that  he  knew,  of  the  person  in  question,  to  confound  and 
i'stract  his  judgment.  In  their  intercourse,  and  in  all  known 

tercourse,  he  had  always  proved  brave,  sensible,  and  generous 


THE    YEMASSEE.  141 

Ee  had  taken  the  lead  among  the  volunteers,  a  short  time  previous, 
in  defeating  a  superior  Spanish  force  and  driving  them  in  disgrace 
from  a  meditated  attack  on  Port  Royal  Island  and  Edisto.  Foi 
this  service  he  had  received  from  the  men  ne  had  then  commanded, 
an  application  for  the  permanent  continuance  of  his  authority — an 
application  neither  declined  nor  accepted.  They  knew  him,  how 
ever,  only  as  Gabriel  Harrison,  a  man  singularly  compounded  of 
daring  bravery,  cool  reflection,  and  good-humoured  vivacity,  and 
knowing  this,  they  cared  for  little  more  information.  The  farther 
mystery — knowing  so  much — was  criminal  in  the  eyes  of  the  pastor, 
who  had  better  reasons  than  the  volunteers  for  desiring  a  greater 
share  of  the  stranger's  confidence  ;  and  though  really,  when  he 
could  calmly  reflect  on  the  subject,  uninfluenced  by  his  prejudices 
of  Puritanism,  pleased  with  the  individual,  a  sense  of  what  he  con 
sidered  his  duty  compelled  him  to  frown  upon  pretensions  so  per 
fectly  vague  yet  so  confidently  urged  as  those  of  his  visitor.  The 
course  of  the  dialogue  just  narrated  contributed  still  more  to  dis 
approve  Harrison  in  the  old  man's  estimation. 

"  My  daughter  wears  no  such  idle  vanities,  Master  Harrison," 
said  he,  "  and  least  of  all  should  she  be  expected  to  receive  them 
from  hands  of  which  we  know  nothing." 

"  Oh,  ho  !"  exclaimed  Chorley  aloud,  now  in  his  turn  enjoying 
himself  at  the  expense  of  his  adversary — "  Oh,  ho — sits  the  wind 
in  that  quarter  of  your  sail,  young  master  ?" 

"  Well,  Hercules,  what  do  you  laugh  at  ?  I  will  buy  your  chain, 
though  the  lady  may  or  may  not  take  it." 

"  You  buy  no  chain  of  me,  I  think,"  replied  the  other — "  unless 
you  buy  this,  which  I  would  have  placed  myself,  as  a  free  gift 
upon  the  neck  of  the  young  lady,  before  you  came." 

"  You  place  it  upon  Bessy's  neck,  indeed  !  Why,  Bully-boy,  whai 
put  that  extravagant  notion  into  your  head  ?"  exclaimed  Harrisoi 
scornfully,  aloud. 

"  And  why  not,  master  ;  why  not,  I  pray  you  ?"  inquired  the  sea 
man,  at  the  same  time  not  seeking  to  suppress  his  pique. 

"  Why  not — indeed  !  But  it  needs  not  to  say  it !  will  you  set 
your  chain  ?" 

"  Ay,  that  will  I,  but  at  a  price  something  beyond  your  mark 
What  will  you  give  now !" 


142  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Put  !*ke  a  trader — -Granger  himself  could  not  have  said  :.t  with 

more  grace.     I  will  give "  at  that  moment  a  distinct  blast  of 

the  horn,  reverberating  through  the  hall,  announced  to  Ilarrison 
the  success  and  approach  of  his  party.  Fixing  his  eye  up  n  the 
person  he  addressed,  and  turning  full  upon  him,  he  replied — 

"I  have  the  price  at  hand — a  fitting  price,  and  one  that  you 
seem  already  to  have  counted  on.  What  say  you  then  to  my  black 
fellow,  Hector  ?  He  is  a  fine  servant,  and  as  you  have  already  stowed 
him  away  safely  in  your  hold,  I  suppose  you  will  not  hesitate  to 
ask  for  him  three  hundred  pieces  in  the  Cuba  market — something 
more,  I  fancy,  than  the  value  of  your  chain." 

The  seaman  was  confounded — taken  all  aback — as  well  as  the 
pastor  and  his  family,  at  this  unlocked  for  charge. 

"Where,  Master  Harrison,  did  you  say?"  inquired  Matthews. 
"  Where  ?  your  fellow  Hector  ?" 

"  Ay,  Hector,  you  know  him  well  enough !  why  stowed  away 
in  the  hold  of  this  worthy  fur  and  amber  trader's  vessel — safe,  locked 
up,  and  ready  for  the  Spaniard." 

"It's  a  d d  lie,"  exclaimed  the  ferocious  seaman,  recovering 

from  his  momentary  stupor. 

"  Bah,  Hercules — see  you  fool  written  in  my  face,  that  you  sup 
pose  oaths  go  further  with  me  than  words  ?  You  are  young,  my 
Hercules,  very  young,  to  think  so," — then,  as  the  accused  person 
proceeded  to  swear  and  swagger,  Harrison  turned  to  the  ladies, 
who  had  been  silent  and  astonished  auditors — "Mrs.  Matthews, 
and  you,  Bess,  take  to  your  chambers,  please  yon,  for  a  while. 
This  business  may  be  unpleasant,  and  not  suited  to  your  presence." 

"  But,  Captain  Harrison,  my  son,"  said  the  old  lady,  affection 
ately. 

"  Gabriel,  dear  Gabriel,"  murmured  the  young  one. 

"No  violence,  gentlemen — for  heaven's  sake,  gentlemen,"  said 
the  host. 

Harrison  kissed  his  hands  playfully  to  the  mother  and  daughtei, 
as,  leading  them  to  an  inner  door,  he  begged  them  to  have  no 
apprehension. 

"Thero  is  no  cr.use  of  fear — be  not  alarmed.     Hercules  and 
myself  would  only  determine  the  value i_o_f- Hej&lor,  without 
eeasary  witnesses.     Go  now,  and  fear  nothing." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  148 

Having  dismissed  the  ladies,  Harrison  turned  immediately  to 
Chorley,  and  putting  his  hand  with  the  utmost  deliberation  upon 
his  shoulder,  thus  addressed  him — 

"  Hark  ye,  Hercules,  you  can't  have  Hector  for  nothing.  Tho 
fellow's  in  prime  order — not  old,  and  still  active — besides  he's  the 
most  trustworthy  slave  I  own,  and  loves  me  like  a  brother.  It 
goes  against  me  to  part  with  him,  but  if  you  are  determined  to 
have  him,  you  must  give  me  an  equivalent." 

The  seaman,  with  many  oaths,  denied  having  him.  "We  forbeai 
the  brutal  language  which  lie  used  in  his  asseveration.  But  Har 
rison  was  cool  and  positive. 

"  Spare  your  breath,  my  brave  fellow,"  said  he  contemptuously 
as  coolly,  "  I  know  you  have  him.  Your  swearing  makes  none  of 
your  lies  true,  and  you  waste  them  on  me.  Give  up  Hector 
then " 

"  And  what  if  I  say  no  ?"  fiercely  replied  the  seaman. 

"  Then  I  keep  Hercules  !"  was  the  response  of  Harrison. 

"  We  shall  see  that,"  exclaimed  the  kidnapper — and  drawing  his 
cutlass,  he  approached  the  door  of  the  cottage,  in  the  way  of  which 
Harrison  stood  calmly.  As  he  approached,  the  latter  drew  forth 
a  pistol  from  his  bosom,  coolly  cocked  and  presented  it  with  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other,  raising  his  horn  to  his  lips,  he  replied 
to  the  previous  signal.  In  another  moment  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  Granger,  with  two  of  the  foresters,  promptly  appeared, 
well  armed,  and,  by  their  presence,  destroying  any  thought  of  an 
equal  struggle,  which  might  originally  have  entered  the  mind  of 
Chorley.  The  three  new  comers  ranged  themselves  around  the 
apartment,  so  as  to  encircle  the  seaman. 

"Captain  Harrison,"  interposed  the  pastor,  "this  violence  in  my 
house " 

"I  deeply  regret,  Mr.  Matthews,"  was  the  reply,  "but  it  is  here 
necessary." 

"It  is  taking  the  laws  into  your  own  hands,  sir." 

"  I  know  it,  sir,  and  will  answer  to  the  laws  for  taking  Hector 
from  the  unlawful  hands  of  this  kidnapper.  Stand  aside,  sir,  if 
you  please,  while  we  secure  our  prisoner  Well,  Hercules,  are  yov 
ready  for  terras  now  !M 


144:  THE   YEMASSEE. 

Nothing  daunted,  Chorley  roared  out  a  defiance,  and  with  a 
fierce  oath,  lifting  his  cutlass,  he  resolutely  endeavoured  to 
advance.  But  the  extension  of  his  arm  for  the  employment  of  his 
weapon,  with  his  enemies  so  near,  was  of  itself  a  disadvantage. 
The  sword  had  scarcely  obtained  a  partial  elevation,  when  the  iron 
lingers  of  Dick  Grimstead  fixed  t&o  uplifted  arm  as  firmly  as  if  the 
vice  of  the  worthy  blacksmith  Lad  taken  the  grasp  instead  of  his 
muscles.  In  another  moment  Chorley  was  tumbled  upon  his  back, 
and,  spite  of  every  effort  at  release,  the  huge  frame  of  Grimstead 
maintained  him  in  that  humiliating  position. 

"You  see,  Hercules,  obstinacy  won't  serve  you  here.  I  must 
have  Hector,  or  I  shall  see  the  colour  of  every  drop  of  blood  in 
your  body.  I  swear  it,  of  God's  surety.  Listen,  then,  here  are 
materials  for  writing.  You  are  a  commander — you  shall  forward 
despatches  to  your  men  for  the  delivery  of  my  snow-ball.  Hectoi 
I  must  have." 

"I  will  write  nothing — my  men  are  in  the  boat ;  they  will  soon 
b3  upon  you,  and,  by  all  the  devils,  I  will  mark  you  for  this." 

"  Give  up  your  hope,  Bully-boy,  and  be  less  obdurate.  I  have 
taken  care  to  secure  your  men  and  boat,  as  fast  and  comfortably 
as  yourself.  You  shall  see  that  I  speak  truth."  Winding  bis  horn 
as  he  spoke,  the  rest  of  the  foresters  appeared  under  the  conduct 
of  Nichols,  who,  strange  to  say,  was  now  the  most  active  conspi 
rator,  seemingly,  of  the  party  ;  they  brought  with  them  the  two 
seamen  well  secured  by  cords.  Ushering  his  prisoners  forward, 
the  worthy  Constantino,  seeing  Harrison  about  to  speak,  hastily 
interrupted  him — 

"The  great  object  of  action,  captain — the  great  object  of  human 
action — Mr.  Matthews,  I  am  your  servant — the  great  object,  Cap 
tain  Harrison,  of  human  action,  as  I  have  said  before,  is,  or  should 
be,  the  pursuit  of  human  happiness.  The  great  aim  of  human 
study  is  properly  to  determine  upon  the  true  nature  of  human  ac 
tion.  Human  reason  being  the  only  mode,  in  the  exercise  of  which 
wo  can  possibly  arrive  at  the  various  courses  which  human  action 
is  to  take,  it  follows,  in  direct  sequence,  that  the  Supreme  Arbiter, 
in  matters  of  moral,  or  I  should  rather  say  human  propriety,  is  the 
universal  reason — " 


THE    YEMASSEE.  140 

"  Quod  erat  demonstrandum,"  gravely  interrupted  Harrison. 

"Your  approval  is  grateful,  Captain  Harrison — very  grateful^ 
sir — but  I  beg  that  you  will  not  interrupt  me." 

JJarrison  bowed,  and  the  doctor  proceeded  : — 

"  Referring  to  just  principles,  and  the  true  standard,  which, — 
Master  Matthews,  this  may  be  of  moment  to  you,  and  I  beg  your 
particular  attention — I  hold  to  be  human  reason, — for  the  govern 
ment,  the  well-being  of  human  society,  I  have  determined — being 
thereto  induced  simply  by  a  consideration  of  the  good  of  the  peo 
ple — to  lead  them  forth,  for  the  captivity  of  these  evil-rninded  men, 
who,  without  the  fear  of  God  in  their  eyes,  and  instigated  by  tic 
devil,  have  feloniously  kidnapped  and  entrapped  and  are  about  to 
carry  away  one  of  the  lawful  subjects  of  our  king,  whom  God  pre 
serve. — I  say  subject,  for  though  it  does  not  appear  that  the  black 
has  ever  been  employed  as  a  colour  distinguishing  the  subjects  of 
our  master,  the  King  of  Great  Britain,  yet,  as  subject  to  his  will, 
and  the  control  of  his  subjects,  are  more  than  all,  as  speaking  in 
the  proper  form  of  the  English  ^  language,  a  little  interpolated  here 
and  there,  it  may  be,  with  a  foreign  coating  or  accent — which  it 
may  be  well  to  recognise  as  legitimately  forming  a  feature  of  the 
said  language,  which  by  all  writers  is  held  to  be  of  a  compound 
substance,  not  unlike,  morally  speaking,  the  sort  of  rock,  which  the 
geologists  designate  as  pudding-stone — pudding  being  a  preparation 
oddly  and  heavily  compounded — and  to  speak  professionally,  in- 
digestibly  compounded — I  say,  then,  arid  I  call  you,  our  pastor, 
and  you,  Captain  Harrison,  and  you,  Richard  Grimstead — albeit 
you  are  not  of  a  craft  or  profession  which  I  may  venture  to  style 
liberal — you  too  may  be  a  witness, — and  you  will  all  of  you  here 
assembled  take  upon  you  to  witness  for  me,  that,  in  leading  forth 
these  brave  men  to  the  assault  upon  and  captivity  of  these  nefari 
ous  kidnappers,  rescue  or  no  rescue,  at  this  moment  my  prisoners, 
that,  from  the  first  immutable  principles  which  I  have  laid  down,  I 
iould  have  been  governed  only  by  a  patriotic  desire  for  the  good 
>f  the  people.  For,  as  it  is  plain  that  the  man  who  kidnaps  a  sub 
ject  has  clearly  none  of  those  moral  restraints  which  should  keep 
him  from  kidnapping  subjects,  and  as  it  is  equally  clear  that  sub 
jects  should  not  be  liable  to  kidnapping,  so  does  it  follow,  as  a 


146  THE   YEMASSEE. 

direct  sequence,  that  the  duty  of  the  good  citizen  is  to  prevent  such 
nefarious  practices.  I  fear  not  now  the  investigation  of  the  people, 
for,  having  been  governed  in  what  I  have  done,  simply  by  a  regard 
for  their  good  and  safety,  I  yield  me  to  their  judgment,  satisfied  of 
justice,  yet  not  shrinking,  in  their  cause,  from  the  martyrdom  which 
they  sometimes  inflict." 

The  speaker  paused,  breathless,  and  looked  round  very  compla 
ccntly  upon  the  assembly — -the  persons  of  which  his  speech  had 
variously  affected.  Some  laughed,  knowing  the  man ;  but  one  or 
two  looked  profound,  and  of  these,  at  a  future  day,  he  had  secured 
th<>  suffrages.  Harrison  suffered  nothing  of  risibility  to  appeal 
upon  his  features,'  composing  the  muscles  of  which,  ne  turned  to 
the-  patriot, — 

"  Gravely  and  conclusively  argued,  doctor,  and  with  propriety, 
for  the  responsibility  was  a  weighty  one,  of  this  bold  measure, 
which  your  regard  for  popular  freedom  has  persuaded  you  to 
ndopc.  I  did  not  myself  think  that  so  much  could  be  said  in 
favour  of  the  proceeding ;  the  benefits  of  which  we  shall  now  pro- 
(•<•<•<]  to  reap.  And  now,  Hercules,"  he  continued,  addressing  the 
still  prostrate  seaman,  "  you  see  the  case  is  hopeless,  and  there  ic 
but  one  way  of  effecting  your  liberty.  Write — here  are  the  ma 
terials;  command  that  Hectoi  be  restored,  without  stroke  or  stripe, 
for  of  God's  surety,  every  touch  of  the  whip  upon  the  back  of  my 
slave  shall  call  for  a  corresponding  dozen  upon  your  own.  Your 
seamen  shall  bear  the  despatch,  and  they  shall  return  with  the 
negro.  I  shall  place  a  watch,  and  if  more  than  these  leave  the 
vessel,  it  will  be  a  signal  which  shall  sound  your  death-warrant,  for 
that  moment,  of  God's  surety,  shall  you  hang.  Let  him  rise, 
Grimstead,  but  keep  his  sword,  and  tomahawk  him  if  he  stir." 

Chorley  saw  that  he  was  in  a  strait,  and  in  hands  no  ways  scrupu 
lous.  Satisfied  that  the  case  was  hopeless  on  other  terms,  lie 
wrote  as  he  was  required.  Sullenly  affixing  the  signature,  IK 
handed  it  fiercely  to  Harrison,  who  coolly  read  over  its  contents. 

"  So   your   name   is   really   not  Hercules,  after   all,"  he   spok 
wi'Ji  his  usual  careless  manner — "  but  Chorley  ? " 

"  Is  it  enough  ? "  sullenly  asked  the  seaman. 

"Ay,  Bully-boy,  if  your  men  obey  it.     I  shall  only  take  U  » 


THE   YEMASSEE.  147 

liberty  of  putting  a  small  addition  to  the  paper,  apprising  them  of 
the  prospect  in  reserve  for  yourself,  if  they  steer  awkwardly.  A 
little  hint  to  them,"  speaking  as  he  wrote,  "  of  new  arms  for  their 
captain — swinging  bough,  rope  pendant, — and  so  forth." 

In  an  hour  and  the  men  returned,  bringing  along  with  them  the 
subject  of  contention,  the  now  half  frantic  Hector.  Chorley  was 
instantly  released,  with  his  two  companions.  lie  hurried  away 
with  scarce  a  word  to  the  pastor.  Swearing  vengeance  as  he 
went,  for  the  indignity  he  had  undergone,  and  the  disappointment, 
he  prepared  to  leave  the  dwelling  in  the  humour  to  do  mischief. 
But  unarmed  as  he  was,  and  awed  by  the  superior  numbers  of 
Harrison,  he  was  compelled,  perforce,  to  keep  his  wrath  in  reserve ; 
resolving  upon  a  double  reckoning  for  the  delay,  whenever  the 
opportunity  should  offer  for  revenge.  Harrison  goaded  him  with 
words  of  new  annoyance  as  he  went — 

"Keep  cool,  Hercules ;  this  attempt  to  kidnap  our  slaves  will 
tell  hardly  against  you  when  going  round  Port  Royal  Island.  The 
battery  there  may  make  your  passage  uncomfortable." 

"  You  shall  suffer  for  this,  young  one,  or  my  name's  not — 

"  Hercules !  well,  well — see  that  you  keep  a  close  reckoning,  for 
I  am  not  so  sure  that  Richard  Chorley  is  not  as  great  a  sea-shark 
.is'  Steed  Bonnett  himself." 

The  seaman  started  fiercely,  as  the  speaker  thus  compared  him 
with  one  of  the  most  notorious  pirates  of  the  time  and  region,  but 
a  sense  of  caution  restrained  from  any  more  decided  expression  of 
his  auger.  With  a  single  word  to  the  pastor,  and  a  sullen 
repetition  of  a  general  threat  to  the  rest,  he  was  soon  in  his  boat 
vc*  ujxm  tha  way  to  his 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

u  Hare  a  keen  eye  awake — sleep  not,  hut  ho34 
A  perilous  watch  to-night.  There  is  an  hour 
Shall  come,  will  try  the  stoutest  of  ye  all." 

u  I  BAY  it  again,  Captain  Harrison — fortunate  is  it  for  mankind, 
fortunate  and  thrice  happy — Mr.  Matthews,  you  will  be  pleased  is 
respond  to  the  sentiment — thrice  fortunate,  I  say,  is  it  for  man 
kind — Richard  Griinstead,  this  idea  is  one  highly  important  to 
your  class,  and  you  will  give  it  every  attention — thrice  fortunate 
for  mankind  that  there  are  some  spirits  in  the  world,  some  noble 
spirits,  whom  no  fear,  no  danger,  not  even  the  dread  of  death,  can 
discourage  or  deter  in  their  labours  for  the  good  of  the  people. 
Who  nobly  array  themselves  against  injustice,  who  lift  up  the 
banners  of  truth,  and,  filled  to  overflowing  with  the  love  of  their 
kindred,  who  yield  up  nothing  of  man's  right  to  exaction  and 
tyranny,  but,  shouting  their  defiance  to  the  last,  fear  not  to  em 
brace  the  stake  of  martyrdom  in  the  perpetuation  of  an  immortal 
principle.  Yes,  captain — " 

The  audience  began  to  scatter. 

"  What, — will  you  not  hear  ? — Mr.  Matthews,  venerable  sir, — 
Master  Grayson,  Master  Walter  Grayson,  I  say — and  you,  Richard 
Grimstead — will  nobody  hear  ? — thus  it  is, — the  blind  and  insen 
sible  mass  ! — they  take  the  safety  and  the  service,  but  forget  the 
benefactor.  Tt  is  enough  to  make  the  patriot  renounce  his  nature, 
and  leave  them  to  their  fate." 

"  You  had  better  go  now,  doctor,  and  see  poor  Murray,  instead 
of  standing  here  making  speeches  about  nothing.  Talk  of  the 
good  of  the  people,  indeed,  and  leave  the  sick  man  without  physic 
till  this  time  of  day." 

"  You  are  right  in  that,  Master  Grayson,  though  scarcely  re 
spectful.  It  concerns  the  popular  welfare,  certainly,  that  ineu 


THE    YEMASSEE.  149 

ahould  not  fall  victims  to  disease ;  but  you  must  understand. 
Master  Grayson,  that  even  to  this  broad  and  general  principle, 
there  are  some  obvious  exceptions.  One  may  and  must,  now  and 
then,  be  sacrificed  for  the  good  of  many — though  to  confess  a 
truth,  this  can  scarcely  be  an  admitted  principle,  if  such  a  sacrifice 
may  tend  in  any  way  to  affect  the  paramount  question  of  the 
soul's  immortal  happiness  or  pain.  I  have  strong  doubts  whether 
a  man  should  be  hung  at  all.  For.  if  it  happen  that  he  be  a  bad 
man,  to  hang  him  is  to  precipitate  him  into  that  awful  abiding 
place,  to  which  each  successive  generation  may  be  supposed  tc 
have  contributed  in  liberal  proportion  ;  and  if  he  should  have 
seen  the  error  of  his  ways,  and  repented,  he  ceases  to  be  a  bad 
man,  and  should  not  be  hung  at  all.  But,  poor  Murray,  as  you 
remind  me,  ought  to  be  physicked — these  cursed  fevers  hang  on  a 
man,  as  that  sooty-lipped  fellow  Grimstead  says,  in  a  speech,  un 
couth  as  himself,  like  '  death  to  a  dead  negro.'  The  only  God  to 
be  worshipped  in  this  region,  take  my  word  for  it,  Master  Grayson, 
is  that  heathen  God,  Mercury.  He  is  the  true  friend  of  the 
people,  and  as  such  I  worship  him.  Captain  Harrison — the  man 
is  deaf.  Ah,  Mr.  Matthews — deaf,  too  !  Farewell,  Master  Gray- 
son,  or  do  you  ride  towards  Gibbons'  ?  He  turns  a  deaf  ear  also. 
Human  nature — human  nature  !  I  do  hate  to  ride  by  myself." 

And  with  these  words,  in  obvious  dissatisfaction — for  Doctor 
Constantine  Maximilian  Nichols  was  no  longer  listened  to — he  lef; 
the  house  and  moved  off  to  the  wood  where  his  little  tacky  stood 
in  waiting.  By  this  time  the  foresters  generally  had  also  left  the 
old  pastor's  cottage.  Giving  them  instructions  to  meet  him  at  the 
Block  House,  Harrison  alone  lingered  behind  with  the  old  Puritan, 
to  whom  the  preceding  events  had  somehow  or  other  been  pro 
ductive  of  much  sore  disquietude.  He  had  shown  his  disappro 
bation  at  various  stages  of  their  occurrence  ;  and  even  now,  when 
the  restoration  of  Hector,  more  than  ever,  showed  the  propriety, 
or  policy  at  least,  of  the  course  which  had  been  pursued,  the  old 
man  seemed  still  to  maintain  a  decided  hostility  to  the  steps  which 
Harrison  had  taken  for  the  recovery  of  his  property.  Having 
once  determined  against  the  individual  himself,  th.e  pastor  was  one 
of  those  dogged  and  self-satisfied  persons  who  can  never  bring 


150  THE    YEMASSEE. 

themselves  to  the  dismissal  of  a  prejudice ;  who  never  permil 
themselves  to  approve  of  any  thing  done  by  the  obnoxious  person, 
and  who  studiously  seek,  in  regard  to  him,  every  possible  occasion 
for  discontent  and  censure.  In  such  a  mood  he  addressed  Harri 
son  when  the  rest  had  departed  : 

"This  violence,  Master  Harrison,"  said  he,  "might  do  in  a 
condition  of  war  and  civil  commotion;  but  while  there  are  laws 
for  the  protection  of  the  people  and  for  the  punishment  of  the 
ao-gressor,  the  resort  to  measures  like  that  which  I  have  this  day 
witnessed,  I  hold  to  be  highly  indecorous  and  criminal." 

"  Mr.  Matthews,  you  talk  of  laws,  as  if  that  pirate  fellow  could 
be  brought  to  justice  by  a  sheriff." 

"  And  why  should  he  not,  Master  Harrison  ?" 

"  My  good  sir,  for  the  very  best  reason  in  the  world,  if  you  will 
but  open  your  eyes,  and  take  off  some  few  of  the  scales  which  you 
seem  to  prefer  to  wear.  Because,  in  that  vessel,  carrying  guns, 
and  men  enough  to  serve  them,  he  could  safely  bid  defiance  to  all 
the  sheriffs  you  could  muster.  Let  the  wind  but  serve,  and  he 
could  be  off,  carrying  you  along  with  him  if  he  thought  proper, 
and  at  this  moment  nothing  we  could  do  could  stop  him.  There 
is  no  defending  Port  Royal,  and  that  is  its  misfortune.  You  must 
always  call  the  force  from  Charleston  which  could  do  so,  and  at 
this  time  there  is  not  a  single  armed  vessel  in  that  port.  No,  sir 
— nothing  but  manoeuvring  now  for  that  fellow,  and  we  must 
manage  still  more  adroitly  before  we  get  our  own  terms  out  of 
him." 

"  Why,  sir — where's  the  battery  at  Port  Royal  ?" 

"  Pshaw,  Mr.  Matthews — a  mere  fly  in  the  face  of  the  wind. 
The  battery  at  Port  Royal,  indeed,  which  the  Spaniards  have  twice 
already  taken  at  noonday,  and  which  they  would  have  tumbled 
into  ruins,  but  for  Captain  Godfrey  and  myself,  as  you  should 
remember — for  your  own  chance  of  escape,  and  that  of  your  family, 
was  narrow  enough.  A  good  wind,  sir,  would  carry  this  Flibustier 
beyond  the  fort  before  three  guns  could  be  brought  to  bear  upon 
her." 

"  Well,  Master.  Harrison,  evvn  if  this  be  the  case,  I  should  rather 
the  guilty  should  escape  than  that  self-constituted  judges  should 


THE    YEMASSEE.  151 

take  into  their  own  hands  the  administration  of  justice  and  the 
law." 

"Indeed,  Reverend  Sir,  but  you  are  too  merciful  by  half;  and 
Hector,  if  he  heard  you  now,  woula  have  few  thanks  for  a  charity, 
which  would  pack  him  off  to  the  Cuba  plantations  for  the  benefit 
of  that  scoundrelly  pirate.  No,  no.  I  shall  always  hold  and 
recover  my  property  by  the  &j.rong  arm,  when  other  means  are 
wanting." 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  security  have  the  people,  that  you,  unknown 
to  them  as  you  are,  may  not  ediploy  the  same  arm  to  do  them 
injustice,  wLile  proposing  justice  for  yourself?" 

"That  is  what  Nichols  would  call  the  popular  argument,  and 
for  which  he  would  give  you  thwiks,  while  using  it  against  you. 
But,  in  truth,  this  is  the  coil,  and  amounts  to  neither  more  nor  less 
than  this,  that  all  power  is  subject  lo  abuse.  I  do  not  contend  for 
the  regular  practice  of  that  which  1  only  employ  in  a  lust  necessity. 
But,  of  this  enough.  I  am  in  n^  mood  for  hair  splitting  and 
arguing  about  trifling  irregularities,  when  the  chance  is  that  there 
are  far  more  serious  difficulties  before  us.  There  is  a  subject,  Mr. 
Matthews,  much  more  important  to  yourself.  You  are  here,' 
residing  on  the  borders  of  a  savage  «iation,  with  an  interest  scarcely 
worth  your  consideration,  and  certainly  no  engrossing  object. 
Your  purpose  is  the  good  of  those  around  you,  and  with  that  object 
you  suffer  privations  here,  to  w'viich  your  family  are  not  much 
accustomed.  I  have  an  interest  ;n  your  welfare,  and — " 

The  lips  of  the  pastor  cur^d  contemptuously  into  a  smile. 
Harrison  proceeded  : 

"  I  understand  that  expression,  sir,  upon  your  face ;  and,  con 
tenting  myself  with  referring  you  for  a  commentary  upon  it  to  the 
sacred  profession  of  your  pursuit,  I  freely  forgive  it."  The  pastor's 
cheek  grew  red,  while  the  other  continued ; — 

"  You  are  here,  sir,  as  I  have  said,  upon  the  Indian  borders. 
There  is  little  real  affinity  between  you.  The  entire  white  popula 
tion  thus  situated,  and  stretching  for  thirty  miles  towards  the  coast 
in  this  direction,  does  riot  exceed  nine  hundred,  men,  women,  and 
children.  You  live  remotely  from  each  other — there  is  but  little 
concert  between  you,  and,  bating  an  occasional  musket,  or  sword, 


152  THE   YEMASSEE. 

the  hatchet  and  the  knife  are  the  only  weapons  which  your  houses 
generally  furnish.  The  Indians  are  fretful  and  becoming  inso 
lent  "— 

(  "  Let  me  interrupt  you,  Master  Harrison.     I     have    no    fears  ! 
.This  danger  of  Indian  war  is  always  the  cry  among  those  who  have 
*  popular  objects.      So   for  as  my  experience  goes,  the  Yemassees 
Vere  never  more  peaceable  than  at  this  moment." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  if  I  say  you  know  little  of  the  Indians,  ana 
are  quite  too  guileless  yourself  to  comprehend  the  least  portion 
^  of  their  Deceitful  character.      Are  you  aware,  sir,  of  the  insurrec 
tion  which  took  place  in  Pocota-ligo  last  night?" 

"  Insurrection  at  Pocota-ligo  ? — what  insurrection  ? " 

u  The  chiefs  were  deposed  by  the  people,  and  by  this  time  are 
probably  destroyed,  for  selling  their  lands  yesterday  to  the  com 
missioners." 

"All  I  I  could  have  said  the  why  and  the  wherefore, without  your 
speech.  This  but  proves,  Captain  Harrison,  that  we  may,  if  we 
please,  provoke  them  by  our  persecutions  into  insurrections.  Why 
do  we  thus  seek  to  rob  them  of  their  lands  ?  When,  0  Father 
of  mercies,  when  shall  there  be  but  one  flock  of  all  classes  and_ 
colours,  all  tribes  and  nations,  of  thy  people,  and  thy  blessed  Son, 
our  Saviour,  the  good  and  guiding  shepherd  thereof?" 

"  The  prayer  is  a  just  one,  and  the  blessing  desirable ;  but, 
while  I  concur  with  your  sentiment,  I  am  not  willing  to  agree 
with  you  that  our  desire  to  procure  their  land  is  at  all  inconsistent 
with  the  prayer.  Until  they  shall  adopt  our  pursuits,  or  we  theirs, 
we  can  never  form  the  one  community  for  which  your  prayer  is 
sent  up  ;  and  so  long  as  the  hunting  lands  are  abundant,  the 
seductions  of  that  mode  of  life  will  always  baffle  the  approach  of 
civilization  among  the  Indians.  But  this  is  not  the  matter  between 
us  now.  Your  smile  of  contempt,  just  now,  when  I  spoke  of  my 
regard  for  your  family,  does  not  discourage  rne  from  repeating  the 
profession.  I  esteem  your  family,  and  a  yet  stronger  sentiment 
attaches  me  to  one  of  its  members.  Feeling  thus  towards  you  and 
it,  and  convinced,  as  I  am,  that  there  is  danger  at  hand  from  the 
Indians,  I  entreat  that  you  will  remove  at  once  into  a  close  neigin 
bourhood  with  our  people.  Go  to  Port  Royal,  where  the 


THE   YEMASSEE.  153 

of  escape  to  Charleston  are  easy ; — or,  why  not  go  to  Charleston 
itself?" 

"  And  see  your  family,"  coolly  sneered  the  pastor. 

"  It  will  be  yours  before  long,  and  you  will  probably  then  know 
all  the  members  thereof.  I  trust  they  will  be  such  as  neither  of 
us  will  be  ashamed  of,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "But  let  not  youi 
displeasure  at  my  pretensions,  or  my  lack  of  family,  make  you 
indifferent  to  the  safety  of  your  own.  I  tell  you,  sir,  there  is  a 
near  and  great  danger  to  be  apprehended  from  the  Indians." 

"  I  apprehend  none,  Captain  Harrison.  The  Indians  have 
always  borne  themselves  peaceably  towards  me  and  towards  all 
the  settlers — towards  all  who  have  carried  them  the  words  of  peace. 
To  me  they  have  always  shown  kindness  and  a  respect  amounting 
almost  to  reverence.  They  have  listened  patiently  to  my  teachings, 
dnd  the  eyes  of  some  them,  under  the  blessed  influence  of  the 
Saviour,  have  been  opened  to  the  light." 

"  Be  not  deceived,  Mr.  Matthews.  The  Indian  upon  whom  you 
would  most  rely,  would  be  the  very  first  to  strip  your  scalp  as  a 
choice  trimming  for  his  mocasin.  Be  advised,  sir — I  know  more 
of  this  people  than  yourself.  I  know  what  they  are  when  excited 
and  aroused ;  deception  with  them  is  the  legitimate  moralitj7 
of  a  true  warrior.  Nor  will  they,  when  once  at  war,  discriminate 
between  the  good  neighbour,  like  yourself,  and  the  wild  borderer 
who  encroaches  upon  their  hunting  grounds  and  carries  off  their 
spoil." 

"  I  fear  not,  sir — I  know  all  the  chiefs,  and  feel  just  as  secure 
here,  guarded  by  the  watchful  Providence,  as  I  possibly  could  do 
in  the  crowded  city,  fenced  in  by  mightiest  walls." 

"  This  confidence  is  rashness,  sir,  since  it  rejects  a  precaution 
which  can  do  no  harm,  and  offers  but  little  inconvenience.  Where 
is  the  necessity  for  your  remaining  here,  where  there  is  so  little  to 
attract,  and  so  few  ties  to  bind  ?  Leave  the  spot,  sir,  at  least  until 
the  storm  is  over-blown  which  I  now  see  impending." 

"  You  are  prophetic,  Master  Harrison,  but  as  I  see  no  storm 
impending,  you  will  suffer  me  to  remain.  You  seem  also  to  forget 
that~ln  remaining  in  this  region,  which  you  say  has  few  ties  for 
me  and  mine,  I  am  complying  with  a  solemn  duty,  undertaken  in 

7* 


154  THE   YEMASSEE. 

cool  deliberation,  and  which  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  avoid.  I  am 
here,  as  you  know,  the  agent  of  a  noble  Christian  charity  of 
England,  as  a  missionary  to  the  heathen." 

"  Be  it  so  ;  but  there  is  nothing  inconsistent  with  your  duty  in 
leaving  the  spot  for  a  season.  Here,  in  the  event  of  a  war,  you 
could  pursue  no  such  mission.  Leave  it,  if  for  a  season  only." 

"Master  Harrison,  once  for  all,  permit  me  to  choose  for  myself, 
not  only  where  to  live,  but  who  shall  be  my  adviser  and  com 
panion.  I  owe  you  thanks  for  your  professed  interest  in  me  and 
mine  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  there  is  but  little  delicacy  in  thus  giving 
us  your  presence,  when  my  thoughts  on  the  subject  of  nay  daughter 
and  your  claim  have  been  so  clearly  expressed.  The  violence  of 
your  course  to-day,  sir,  let  me  add,  is  enough  to  strengthen  my 
previous  determination  on  that  subject." 

"  Your  determination,  Mr.  Matthews,  seems  fixed,  indeed,  to  be 
wrong-headed  and  obstinate.  You  have  dwelt  greatly  upon  my 
violence  to  this  sea-bear ;  and  yet,  or  I  greatly  mistake  my  man, 
you  will  come  to  wish  it  had  been  greater.  But,  ask  your  own 
good  sense  whether  that  violence  exceeded  in  degree  the  amount 
necessary  to  secure  the  restoration  of  my  slave  ?  I  did  only  what 
I  thought  essential  to  that  end,  though  something  provoked  to 
more.  But  this  aside.  If  you  will  not  hear  counsel,  and  deter 
mine  to  remain  in  this  place,  at  least  let  me  implore  you  to  observe 
every  precaution,  and  be  ready  to  resort  to  the  Block  House  with 
the  first  alarm.  Be  ready  in  your  defence,  and  keep  a  careful 
watch.  Let  your  nightbolts  be  well  shot.  I  too,  sir,  will  be 
something  watchful  for  you.  I  cannot  think  of  letting  you  sacri 
fice,  by  your  ill-judged  obstinacy,  one,  dear  enough  to  me,  at  least, 
to  make  me  bear  with  the  discourtesies  which  come  with  such  an 
ill  grace  from  her  sire." 

Thus  speaking,  Harrison  left  the  cottage  abruptly,  leaving  the 
old  gentleman  standing, — angry  enough  still,  but  still  somewhat 
dissatisfied  with  his  own  conduct, — in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

"Thou  kill'st  me  with  a  word  when  thou  dost  §ajr 
She  loves  him.  Better  thou  hadst  slain  me  first ; 
Thou  hadst  not  half  so  wrong'd  me  then  as  now." 

HECTOR  met  his  master  at  the  door  of  the  cottage  with  tidings 
from  the  daughter  which  somewhat  compensated  for  the  harsh 
treatment  of  the  father.  She  had  consented  to  their  meeting  that 
afternoon  in  the  old  grove  of  oaks,  well-known  even  to  this  day 
in  that  neighbourhood,  for  its  depth  and  beauty  of  shadow,  and 
its  sweet  fitness  for  all  the  purposes  of  love.  Somewhat  more 
satisfied,  therefore,  he  took  his  way  to  the  Block  House,  where  the 
foresters  awaited  him. 

They  met  in  consultation,  and  the  duties  before  Harrison  were 
manifold.  He  told  the  party  around  him  all  that  it  was  necessary 
they  should  know,  in  order  to  ensure  proper  precautions ;  and, 
having  persuaded  them  of  the  necessity  of  this  labour,  he  found 
no  difficulty  in  procuring  their  aid  in  putting  the  Block  House 
in  better  trim  for  the  reception  of  the  enemy.  To  do  this,  they 
went  over  the  fabric  together.  The  pickets  forming  an  area  or 
yard  on  two  of  its  sides,  having  been  made  of  the  resinous  pine 
of  the  country,  were  generally  m  good  preservation.  The  gate 
securing  the  entrance  was  gone,  however,  and  called  for  immediate 
attention.  The  door  of  the  Block  House  itself — for  it  had  but 
one — had  also  beec  taken  away,  and  the  necessity  was  equally 
great  of  its  restoration.  The  lower  story  of  the  fortress  consisted 
of  but  a  single  apartment,  in  which  no  repairs  were  needed.  The 
upper  story  was  divided  into  rooms,  and  reached  by  a  ladder—  a 
single  ladder  serving  the  several  divisions,  and  transferable  to  each 
place  of  access  when  the  ascent  was  desirable.  One  of  these 
apartments,  built  more  securely  than  the  other,  and  pierced  with  a 
single  small  window,  had  been  meant  as  the  retreat  of  the  womeD 


156  THE    YEMASSEE. 

and  children,  and  was  now  in  the  possession  of  Granger,  the  trader, 
and  his  wife.  His  small  stock  in  trade,  his  furs,  blankets,  knives, 
beads,  hatchets,  etc.,  were  strewn  confusedly  over  the  clapboard 
floor.  These  were  the  articles  most  wanted  by  the  Indians.  Fire 
arms  it  had  been  the  policy  of  the  English  to  keep  from  them  as 
much  as  possible.  Still,  the  intercourse  between  ther.j  had  been 
such  that  this  policy  was  not  always  adhered  to.  Many  of  their 
principal  persons  had  contrived  to  procure  them,  either  from  the 
English  tradesmen  themselves,  or  from  the  Spaniards  of  St.  Augus 
tine,  with  whom  of  late  the  Yemassees  had  grown  exceedingly 
intimate;  and  though,  from  their  infrequent  use,  not  perfect 
masters  of  the  weapon,  they  were  still  sufficiently  familiar  with  it 
to  increase  the  odds  already  in  their  favour  on  the  score  of  num 
bers.  Apart  from  this,  the  musket  is  but  little,  if  any  thing, 
superior  to  the  bow  and  arrow  in  the  American  forests.  It  in 
spires  with  more  terror,  and  is  therefore  more  useful ;  but  it  is  not 
a  whit  more  fatal.  Once  discharged,  the  musket  is  of  little  avail. 
The  Indian  then  rushes  forward,  and  the  bayonet  becomes  inno 
cuous,  for  the  striking  and  sure  distance  for  the  tomahawk  in  his 
hands  is  beyond  the  reach  of  its  thrust.  The  tomahawk,  with 
little  practice,  in  any  hand,  can  inflict  a  severe  if  not  a  fatal  wound 
at  twelve  paces,  and  beyond  the  ordinary  pistol  certainty  of  that 
period.  As  long  as  his  quiver  lasts — containing  twelve  to  twenty 
arrows — the  bow  in  the  close  woods  is  superior  to  the  musket  in 
the  grasp  of  the  Indian,  requiring  only  the  little  time  necessary 
after  the  discharge  of  one,  in  fixing  another  arrow  upon  the  elastic 
sinew.  The  musket  too,  in  the  hands  of  the  Englishman,  and  ac 
cording  to  his  practice,  is  a  sightless  weapon.  He  fires  in  line,  and 
without  aim.  The  Anglo-American,  therefore,  has  generally 
adopted  the  rifle.  The  eye  of  the  Indian  regulates  every  shaft 
from  his  bow  with  a  rapidity  given  him  by  repeated  and  hourly 
practice  from  his  childhood,  and  he  learns  to  take  the  same  aim 
at  his  enemy  which  he  would  take  at  the  smallest  bird  among  his 
forests.  But  to  return. 

Harrison,  with  Gri instead,  the  smith,  Grayson,  Granger,  and  the 
rest,  looked  carefully  to  all  the  defences  of  the  fortress.  He 
employed  them  generally  in  the  repairs  considered  necessary,  nor 


THE    YEMASSEE.  157 

withheld  his  own  efforts  in  restoring  the  broken  timber  or  the 
maimed  shutter.  The  tools  of  the  carpenter  were  as  familiar  as 
the  weapon  of  warfare,  to  the  hand  of  the  American  woodsman, 
and  the  aid  of  the  smith  soon  put  things  in  train  for  a  stout  defence 
of  the  fabric,  in  the  event  of  any  necessity.  This  having  been 
done,  the  whole  party  assembled  in  Granger's  apartment  to  partake 
of  the  frugal  meal  which  the  hands  of  the  trader's  wife  had  pre 
pared  for  them.  We  have  seen  the  bold  step  taken  by  this  woman 
in  delivering  up  to  the  Yemassees  the  treaty  which  conveyed  their 
lands  to  the  Carolinians,  by  whigh^  though  she  had  risked  the 
displeasure  of  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger,  whom  tlio  point  of  honour 
would  have  rendered  obstinate,  she  had  certain.y  saved  the  lives 
of  the  party.  She  was  a  tall,  masculine,  and  well-made  woman  j 
of  a  sanguine  complexion,  with  deeply  sunken,  dark  eyes,  hair 
black  as  a  coal  arid  cut  short  like  that  of  a  man.  Thete  was  a 
stern  something  in  her  glance  which  repelled  *,  and  thougu  gentle 
and  even  humble  in  her  usual  speech,  there  were  moments  when 
her  tone  was  that  of  reckless  defiance,  and  when  her  manner  was 
any  thing  but  conciliatory.  Iler  look  was  always  grave,  even 
sombre,  and  no  one  saw  her  smile.  She  thus  preserved  her  own 
and  commanded  the  respect  of  others,  in  a  sphere  of  life  to  which 
respect,  or  in  very  moderate  degree,  is  not  often  conceded  ;  and 
though  now  she  did  not  sit  at  the  board  upon  which  the  humble 
meal  had  been  placed,  her  presence  restrained  the  idle  remark 
which  the  wild  life  of  most  of  those  assembled  around  it,  would  be 
well  apt  to  instigate  and  occasion.  At  dinner,  Hector  was  examined 
as  to  his  detention  on  board  of  the  schooner.  lie  told  the  story 
of  his  capture  as  already  given,  and,  though  the  poor  fellow  had 
in  reality  heard  nothing,  or  very  little,  of  the  conversation  between 
the  sailor  and  the  Indians,  yet  the  clear  narrative  which  he  gave, 
descriptive  of  the  free  intercourse  between  the  parties,  and  the 
presence  of  the  belt  of  wampum,  were  proofs  strong  as  holy  writ; 
— conclusive,  certainly,  to  the  mind  of  Harrison,  of  the  suspicion 
he  already  entertained.  * 

"  And  what  of  the  schooner — what  did  you  see  there,  Hector  !w 
"  Gun,  maussa  !    big  gun,  little  gun — long  sword,  little  sword, 
and  hatchets  plenty  for  Injins." 


158 

THE  YEMASSEE. 
"  What  sort 


after  the  separation,  «H2rfe±  "«  him"  An  Lou',. 
"Pon  the  nVer,  a  few  hu.dre  varf?  "  "T^  at  the  >«ndi,,S 
1'yed,  ,„  time  to  sec  his  bro  L'±  C°th«e  where  '* 


"I  could  come  no  sooner  H,,,,.),  .   T  , 
e  captain."  '  ttu«h  '  !  lia^  been  busy  in  assist',  • 

'  ' 


'    6wy  jot  of  manly  i 
not    o°fj.  S  '/htf  :f  's^a'^f  ^  £°od  7ou,lger  broUl&_ 

"fi^H^^^ 

.     The  X££   t  c  ":sj-'rof  the^^ees  Of  t!le 

manifet  in  h^tS±^  a"d  tilere  "«  «^fc£ 
r  could  not  help  asting  h  nUf  ,      S°  mUC!i  S0  ^«d,  thai 
get  hi.,  S|ave  again,  '  ''6  regretted  that  Har 


THE    YEMASSEE.  159 

"  I  must  go,  however,  and  try  him.  I  want  every  thing,  even 
powder  and  lead." 

"  Well,  that's  a  good  want  with  you,  Hugh,  for  if  you  had  none, 
you'd  be  better  willing  to  work  at  home." 

"  I  will  not  go  into  the  -field," — said  the  other,  haughtily  and 
impatiently.  "It  will  do  for  you,  to  take  the  mule's  labour,  who 
are  so  willing  to  be  at  the  beck  and  call  of  every  swaggering 
upstart;  but  I  will  not.  No!  Let  me  rather  go  with  the  Indians, 
and  take  up  with  them,  and  dress  in  their  skins,  and  disfigure 
myself  with  their  savage  paint ;  but  I  will  neither  dig  nor  he\f 
when  I  can  do  otherwise." 

"  Ay,  when  you  can  do  otherwise,  Hugh  Grayson — I  am  willing. 
But  do  not  deceive  yourself,  young  brother  of  mine.  I  know,  if 
you  do  not,  why  the  labours  of  the  field,  which  I  must  go  through 
with,  are  your  dislike.  I  know  why  you  will  rather  drive  the  woods, 
day  after  day,  in  the  Indian  fashion,  along  with  Chiparee  or 
Occonestoga  and  with  no  better  company,  for,  now  and  then,  a 
poor  buck  or  doe,  in  preference  to  more  regular  employment  and 
a  more  certain  subsistence." 

"  And  why  is  it  then,  Walter  ? — let  me  have  the  benefit  of  your 
knowledge." 

"  Ay,  I  know,  and  so  do  you,  Hugh ;  and  shame,  I  say,  on  the 
false  pride  which  regards  the  toil  of  your  own  father,  and  the 
labours  of  your  own  brother,  as  degrading.  Ay,  you  blush,  and 
well  you  may,  Hugh  Grayson.  It  is  the  truth — a  truth  I  have 
never  spoken  in  your  ears  before,  and  should  not  have  spoken  now, 
but  for  the  freedom  and  frequency  with  which  you,  my  younger 
brother,  and  for  whom  I  have  toiled  when  he  could  not  toil  for 
himself,  presume  to  speak  of  my  conduct  as  slavish.  Now, 
examine  your  own,  and  know  that  as  I  am  independent,  I  am  not 
slavish :  you  can  tell  for  yourself  whether  you  owe  as  little  to  me, 
as  £  to  you  and  to  all  other  persons.  When  you  have  answered  this 
question,  Hugh,  you  can  find  a  better  application  than  you  have 
yet  made  of  that  same  word  *  slave.'  " 

The  cheek  of  the  hearer  grew  pale  and  crimson,  alternately,  at 
the  reproach  of  the  speaker,  whose  eye  watched  him  with  not  a 
littlo  of  that  sternness  of  glance,  which  heretofore  had  filled  his 


160  THE    YEMASSEE. 

own.  At  one  moment  the  collected  fury  of  his  lock  seemed  tc 
threaten  violence,  but,  as  if  consideration  came  opportunely,  lie 
turned  aside,  and  after  a  few  moments'  pause,  replied  in  a  thick, 
broken  tone  of  voice  : — 

"  You  have  said  well,  my  elder  brother  and  my  better.  Your 
reproach  is  just — I  am  a  dependant — a  beggar — one  who  should 
acknowledge,  if  he  has  riot  craved  for,  charity.  I  say  it — and  I 
feel  it,  and  the  sooner  I  requite  the  obligation  the  better.  I  will 
go  to  this  trader,  and  sell  my  skins  if  I  can,  kidnapper  or  pirate 
though  he  be.  I  will  go  to  him,  and  beg  him  to  buy,  which  I 
might  not  have  done  but  for  your  speech.  You  have  said  harshly, 
Walter  Grayson,  very  harshly,  but  truly,  and — I  thank  you,  I 
thank  you,  believe  me — I  thank  you  for  the  lesson." 

As  he  moved  away,  the  elder  brother  turned  quick  upon  him, 
and  with  an  ebullition  of  feeling  which  did  not  impair  his  manli 
ness,  he  grappled  his  hand — 

"  Hugh,  boy,  I  was  harsh  and  foolish,  but  you  drove  me  to  it, 
I  love  you,  brother — love  you  as  if  you  were  my  own  son,  and  dc 
not  repent  me  of  any  thing  I  have  done  for  you ;  which,  were  it 
to  be  done  over  again,  I  should  rejoice  to  do.  But  when  you 
speak  in  such  harsh  language  of  men  whom  you  know  I  love,  you 
provoke  me,  particularly  when  I  see  and  know  that  you  do  them 
injustice.  Now,  Captain  Harrison,  let  me  tell  you — " 

"  I  would  not  hear,  Walter — nothing,  I  pray  you,  of  that 
man  !" 

"And  why  not? — Ah,  Hughey,  put  down  this  bad  spirit — this 
impatient  spirit,  which  will  not  let  you  sleep ;  for  even  in  your 
sleep  it  speaks  out,  and  I  have  heard  it." 

"  Ha !"  and  the  other  started,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  arm  of 
his  brother — "  thou  hast  heard  what  ?" 

"  What  I  will  not  say — not  even  to  you  ! — but  enough,  Hugh, 
to  satisfy  me,  that  your  dislike  to  Harrison  springs  from  an  un 
becoming  feeling." 

"  Name  it." 

"Jealousy! — I  have  already  Hinted  as  much,  and  now  I  tell 
you  that  your  love  for  Bess  Matthews,  and  her  love  for  him,  are 
tin  cause  of  your  hate  to  Harrison." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  161 

"  You  think  she  loves  him  ?"  was  the  broken  and  huskily 
uttered  inquiry. 

"  I  do,  Hugh — honestly  I  believe  it." 

And  as  the  elder  brother  replied,  the  other  dashed  down  his 
hand,  which,  on  putting  the  question,  he  had  taken,  and  rushed 
off,  with  a  feeling  of  desperation,  in  the  direction  of  the  boat.  In 
a  moment,  seated  centrally  within  it,  he  had  left  the  banks ;  and 
a  little  flap  oar  was  plied  from  hand  to  hand  with  a  rapidity  and 
vigour  more  than  half  derived  from  the  violent  boiling  of  the 
feverish  blood  within  his  veins.  With  a  'gaze  of  sad  sympathy 
and  of  genuine  feeling,  Walter  Grayson  surveyed  his  progress  for 
a  while,  then  turned  away  to  the  cottage  and  to  other  occupations. 

In  a  little  while,   the  younger  brother,  with  his  small  cargo, 
approached  the  vessel,  and  was  instantly  hailed  by  a  gruff 
from  within. 

"  Throw  me  a  rope,"  was  the  cry  of  Grayson. 

"  For  what — what  the  devil  should  make  us  throw  you  a 
who  are  you — what  do  you  wan'  ?"  was  the  reply.  The  speaker 
who  was  no  other  than  our  old  acquaintance,  Chorley,  showed 
himself  at  the  same  moment,  and  looked  out  upon  the  visitor. 

"  You  buy  furs  and  skins,  captain — I  have  both,  and  here  is  a 
bag  of  amber,  fresh  gathered,  and  the  drops  are  large.*  I  want 
powder  for  them,  and  shot — and  some  knives  and  hatchets." 

"  You  get  none  from  me,  blast  me." 

"  What,  wherefore  are  you  here,  if  not  for  trade  ?"  was  the 
involuntary  question  of  Grayson.  The  seaman,  still  desirous  of 
preserving  appearances  as  much  as  possible,  found  it  necessary  to 
control  his  mood,  which  the  circumstances  of  the  morning  were 
not  altogether  calculated  to  soften  greatly.  He  replied  therefore 
evasively. 

*  Amber,  in  Carolina,  was  supposed  to  exist  in  such  quantities,  at  an 
early  period  in  its  history,  that  among  the  laws  and  constitution  made  by 
the  celebrated  John  Locke  for  the  Province,  we  find  one,  regulating  its 
distribution  among  the  eight  lords  proprietors.  At  present  we  have  no 
evidence  of  its  fruitfulness  in  that  quarter,  and  the  probability  is,  that  in 
the  sanguine  spirit  of  the  time,  the  notion  was  entertained  from  the  few 
specimens  >ccasionally  found  and  worn  by  the  Indiana. 


162  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"Ay,  to  be  sure  I  come  for  trade,  but  can't  you  wait  till  T 
haul  up  to  the  landing  ?  I  ain  afraid  there's  not  water  enough 
for  me  to  do  so  now,  for  the  stream  shoals  here,  as  I  can  tell  by 
my  soundings,  too  greatly  for  the  risk ;  but  to-morrow — come  to 
morrow,  and  I'll  trade  with  you  for  such  things  as  you  want." 

"And  whether  you  hau.  to  the  landing  or  not,  why  not  trade 
on  board  to-day  ?  Let  me  bring  my  skins  up  ;  throw  me  a  rope 
and  we  shall  soon  trade.  I  want  but  few  things,  and  they  will 
require  no  long  search  ;  you  can  easily  say  if  you  have  them." 

But  this  was  pressing  the  point  too  far  upon  Chorley's  good 
nature.  The  seaman  swore  indignantly  at  the  pertinacity  of  his 
visitor,  and  pouring  forth  a  broadside  of  oaths,  bade  him  tack 
ship  and  trouble  him  no  longer. 

"  Be  off  now,  freshwater,  and  wait  my  time  for  trading.  If  you 
bother  me  before  I'm  ready,  I'll  send  you  more  lead  than  you're 
able  to  pay  for,  and  put  it  where  you'll  never  look  for  it.  Put 
about,  in  a  jiffy,  or  you'll  never  catch  stays  again.  Off,  I  say,  or 
I'll  send  a  shot  through  your  figure-head  that  shall  spoil  your 
beauty  for  ever." 

Grayson  was  naturally  surprised  at  this  treatment,  and  his  fierce 
spirit  felt  very  much  like  a  leap  at  the  throat  of  the  ruffian  cap 
tain.  But  prudence  taught  him  forbearance,  in  act  at  least.  He 
was  not  sparing  of  his  words,  which  were  as  haughty  and  insolent 
as  he  could  make  them.  But  Chorley  could  beat  him  easily  at 
such  weapons,  and  the  young  man  was  soon  content  to  give  up 
the  contest.  Sternly  and  sadly,  and  with  the  utmost  deliberation, 
paddling  himself  round  with  a  disappointed  heart,  he  made  once 
more  for  the  cottage  landing. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

The  hunters  are  upon  thee — keep  thy  pace, 
Nor  falter,  lest  the  arrow  strike  thy  back, 
And  the  foe  trample  on  thy  prostrate  form  " 

IT  was  about  nooii  of  the  same  day,  when  the  son  of  Sanutee, 
the  outcast  and  exiled  Occonestoga,  escaping  from  his  father's 
assault  and  flying  from  the  place  of  council  as  already  narrated, 
appeared  on  the  banks  of  the  river  nearly  opposite  the  denser  settle 
ment  of  the  whites,  and  several  miles  below  Pocota-ligo.  But  the 
avenger  had  followed  hard  upon  his  footsteps,  and  the  fugitive  had 
suffered  terribly  in  his  flight.  His  whole  appearance  was  that  of 
the  extremest  wretchedness.  His  dress  was  torn  by  the  thorns  of 
many  a  thicket  in  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  crawl  for  shelter. 
His  skin  was  lacerated,  and  the  brakes  and  creeks  through  which 
he  had  been  compelled  to  plough  and  plunge,  had  left  the  tribute 
of  their  mud  and  mire  on  every  inch  of  his  person.  Nor  had  the 
trials  of  his  mind  been  less.  Previous  drunkenness,  the  want  of 
food,  and  extreme  fatigue  (for,  circuitously  doubling  from  his  pur- 
,-  suers,  he  had  run  nearly  the  whole  night,  scarcely  able  to  rest  for 
-  a  moment),  contributed  duly  to  the  miserable  figure  which  he  made. 
His  eyes  were  swollen,  his  cheeks  sunken,  and  there  was  a  wo- 
begone  feebleness  and  utter  desolateness  about  his  whole  appear 
ance.  He  had  been  completely  sobered  by  the  hunt  made  after 
him  ;  and  the  instinct  of  life,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  the  peculiar 
nature  of  the  doom  in  reserve  for  him,  had  effectually  called  all  his 
faculties  into  exercise. 

When  hurried  from  the  council-house  by  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger 
to  save  him  from  the  anger  of  his  father,  he  had  taken  the  way 
under  a  filial  and  natural  influence,  to  the  lodge  of  Mativvan.  And 
she  cheered  and  would  have  cherished  him,  could  that  have  been 
done  consistently  with  her  duty  to  her  lord.  What  she  could  do, 
however,  she  did  ;  and,  though  deeply  sorrowing  over  his  pros- 


164  THE    YEMASSEE. 

ti tuted  manhood,  she  could  not,  at  the  same  time,  forget  that  he 
was  her  son.  But  in  her  cabin  he  was  not  permitted  to  lingei 
long.  Watchful  for  the  return  of  Sanutee,  Matiwan  was  soon 
apprised  of  the  approach  of  the  pursuers.  The  people,  collected 
to  avenge  themselves  upon  the  chiefs,  were  not  likely  to  suffer  the 
escape  of  one,  who,  like  Occonestoga,  had  done  so  much  to  subject 
them,  as  they  thought,  to  the  dominion  of  the  English.  A  party 
of  them,  accordingly,  hearing  of  his  flight,  and  readily  conceiving 
its  direction,  took  the  same  route ;  and,  but  for  the  mother's 
watchfulness,  he  had.  then  shared  the  doom  of  the  other  chiefs. 
But  she  heard  their  coming  and  sent  him  on  his  way;  not  so  soon, 
however,  as  to  make  his  start  in  advance  of  them  a  matter  of  very 
great  importance  to  his  flight.  They  were  close  upon  his  heels, 
and  when  he  cowered  silently  in  the  brake,  they  took  their  way 
directly  beside  him.  When  he  lay  stretched  along,  under  the 
cover  of  the  fallen  tree,  they  stepped  over  his  body,  and  when, 
seeking  a  beaten  path  in  his  tortuous  course,  he  dared  to  look 
around  him,  the  waving  pine  torches  which  they  carried  flamed 
before  his  eyes. — 

"  I  will  burn  feathers,  thou  shalt  have  arrows,  Opitchi-Manneyto. 
Be  not  wrath  with  the  young  chief  of  Yemassee.  Make  the  eyes 
blind  that  hunt  after  him  for  blood.  Thou  shalt  have  arrows  and 
feathers,  Opitchi-Manneyto — a  bright  fire  of  arrows  and  feathers !" 

Thus,  as  he  lay  beneath  the  branches  of  a  fallen  tree,  around 
which  his  pursuers  were  winding,  the  young  warrior  uttered  the 
common  form  of  deprecation  and  prayer  to  the  evil  deity  of 
his  people,  in  the  language  of  the  nation.  But  he  did  not 
despair,  though  he  prayed.  Though  now  frequently  drunk  and 
extremely  dissolute,  Occonestoga  had  been  a  gallant  and  very 
skilful  partisan  even  in  the  estimation  of  the  Indian.  He  had 
been  one  of  the  most  promising  of  all  their  youth,  when  first 
made  a  chief,  after  a  great  battle  with  the  Savannahs,  against 
whom  he  distinguished  himself.  This  exceeding  promise  at 
the  outset  of  his  career,  rendered  the  mortification  of  his  sub 
sequent  fall  more  exquisitely  painful  to  Sanutee,  who  was  a 
proud  and  ambitious  man.  Nor  was  Occonestoga  himself  utterly 
insensible  to  his  degradation.  When  sober,  his  humiliation  and 


THE    YEHASSEE.  165 

shame  were  scarcely  less  poignant  than  that  of  his  father ;  but 
unhappily,  the  seduction  of  strong  drink  he  had  never  been  able 
to  withstand.  He  was  easily  persuaded,  and"  as  easily  overcome. 
He  had  thus  gone  on  for  some  time ;  and,  seeking  the  fiery 
poison  only,  he  was  almost  in  daily  communication  with  the  lower 
classes  of  the  white  settlers,  from  whom  alone  liquor  could  be 
obtained.  For  this  vile  reward  he  had  condescended  to  the  per 
formance 'of  various  services  for  these  people — offices  which  were 
held  to  be  degrading  by  his  own ;  and  so  much  had  he  been  dis 
credited  among  the  latter,  that  but  for  his  father's  great  influence, 
which  necessarily  restrained  the  popular  feeling  on  the  subject  of 
the  son's  conduct,  he  had  long  since  been  thrust  from  any  consi- 
i  deration  or  authority  among  them.  Originally  he  had  been  highly 
popular.  His  courage  had  been  greatly  admired,  and  admirably 
consorted  with  the  strength  and  beauty  of  his  person.  Even  now, 
bloated  and  blasted  as  he  was,  there  was  something  highly  pre 
possessing  in  his  general  appearance.  He  was  tall  and  graceful, 
broad  and  full  across  the  breast,  and  straight  as  an  arrow.  But  the 
soul  was  debased  within  him  ;  and  there  were  moments  when  he 
felt  all  his  wretched  humiliations — moments  when  he  felt  how 
much  better  it  would  be  to  strike  the  knife  to  his  own  heart,  and 
lose  the  deadly  and  degrading  consciousness  which  made  him 
ashamed  to  meet  the  gaze  of  his  people.  Even  now,  as  he  emerges 
from  the  morass,  having  thrown  off  his  pursuers,  the  criminal  pur 
pose  besets  him.  You  see  it  in  his  face,  his  eye — you  see  it  in  the 
swift,  hurried  clutch  of  the  knife,  and  the  glance  upward  and  around 
him.  But  such  thoughts  and  purposes  usually  linger  for  a  moment 
only.  Baffled  then,  they  depart  as  suddenly  as  they  come.  Occo- 
nestoga  threw  off  his  desperate  purpose,  as  he  had  thrown  off  his 
pursuers.  Once  more  he  went,  pressing  rapidly  forward,  while  the 
hunters  were  baffled  in  rounding  a  dense  brake  through  which  he  had 
dared  to  go.  He  was  beyond  them,  but  they  were  between  him  and 
the  river;  and  his  course  was  bent  for  the  settlements  of  the  whites 
— the  only  course  in  which  he  hoped  for  safety.  Day  came,  and  he 
thought  himself  safe;  but  he  was  roused  by  the  hunting  cries  of 
new  pursuers.  He  almost  despairs.  His  flight  had  taken  him  com 
pletely  out  of  his  contemplated  route.  To  recover  ard  regain  it  ii 


166  THE    YEMASSEE. 

now  his  object.  Boldly  striking  across  the  path  of  his  hunters,  Occo 
nestoga  darted  along  the  bed  of  a  branch  which  ran  parallel  with 
the  course  he  aimed  to  take.  He  lay  still  as  the  enemy  approached 
— he  heard  their  retreating  footsteps,  and  again  he  set  forward. 
But  the  ear  and  sense  of  the  Indian  are  as  keen  as  his  own  arrow, 
and  the  pursuers  were  not  Jong  misled.  They  retrieved  their  error, 
and  turned  with  the  fugitive  ;  but  the  instinct  of  preservation  wa, 
still  active,  and  momentary  success  gave  him  a  new  stimulant  to 
exertion.  At  length,  when  almost  despairing  and  exhausted,  his 
eyes  beheld,  and  his  feet  gained,  the  bank  of  the  river,  still  ahead 
of  his  enemy ;  and  grateful,  but  exhausted,  he  lay  for  a  few 
moments  stretched  upon  the  sands,  and  gazing  upon  the  quiet 
waters  before  him. 

He  was  not  long  suffered  to  remain  in  peace.  A  shout  arrested 
his  attention,  and  he  started  to  his  feet  to  behold  two  of  his  pur 
suers  emerging  at  a  little  distance  from  the  forest.  This  spectacle 
completed  his  misery.  Exhaustion  had  utterly  subdued  his  soul. 
He  felt,  once  more,  that  death  would  be  far  preferable  to  the  de 
graded  and  outcast  life  which  he  led — doomed  and  pursued  for  ever 
by  his  own  people — and  rising-  to  his  feet,  in  the  moment  of  his 
despair,  he  threw  open  the  folds  of  his  hunting  shirt,  and  placing 
his  hand  upon  his  breast,  cried  out  to  them  to  shoot.  But  the 
bow  was  unlifted,  the  arrow  undrawn,  and  to  his  surprise  the  men 
who  had  pursued  him  as  he  thought  for  his  blood,  now  refused 
what  they  had  desired.  They  increased  their  efforts  to  take,  but 
not  to  destroy  him.  The  circumstance  surprised  him  ;  and  with 
a  renewal  of  his  thought  came  a  renewed  disposition  to  escape. 
Without  further  word,  and  with  the  instantaneous  action  of  his 
reason,  he  plunged  forward  into  the  river,  and  diving  down  like 
an  otter,  reserved  his  breath  until,  arising,  he  lay  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  stream.  But  he  arose  enfeebled  and  overcome — the  feeling 
of  despair  grew  with  his  weakness,  and  turning  a  look  of  defiance 
upon  the  two  Indians  who  still  stood  in  doubt,  watching  his 
progress  from  the  banks  which  they  had  now  gained,  he  raised 
himself  breast  high  from  the  water,  and  once  more  challenged 
their  arrows  to  his  breast,  by  smiting  it  with  a  fierce  violence,  the 
action  of  equal  defiance  and  despair.  As  they  saw  the  action,  one 


THE    YEMASSEK.  167 

of  them,  as  if  in  compliance  with  the  demand,  lifted  his  bow  ; 
but  the  other  the  next  instant  struck  it  down.  Half  amazed  and 
wondering  at  what  he  saw,  and  now  almost  overcome  by  hvs 
effort,  the  sinking  Occonestoga  gave  a  single  shout  of  derision, 
and  ceased  all  further  effort.  The  waters  bore  him  down.  Once, 
and  once  only,  his  hand  was  struck  out  as  if  in  the  act  of  swim 
ming,  while  his  head  was  buried ;  and  then  the  river  closed  over 
him.  The  brave  but  desponding  warrior  sunk  hopelessly,  just  as 
the  little  skiff  of  Hugh  Grayson,  returning  from  his  interview 
with  Chorley,  which  we  have  already  narrated,  darted  over  tii«» 
small  circle  in  the  stream  which  still  bubbled  and  broke  where  the 
young  Indian  had  gone  down.  The  whole  scene  had  been  wit 
nessed  by  him,  and  he  had  urged  every  sinew  in  the  effort  to 
reach  the  youth  in  season.  Ilis  voice,  as  he  called  aloud  to  Or.- 
conestoga,  whom  he  well  knew,  had  been  unheard  by  the  drowning 
and  despairing  man.  But  still  he  came  in  time,  for,  as  his  Jiiii* 
boat  darted  over  the  spot  where  the  red-man  had  been  seen  ,„ 
sink,  the  long  black  hair  suddenly  grew  visible  again  above  tne 
water,  and  in  the  next  moment  was  firmly  clutched  in  the  grasp 
of  the  Carolinian.  With  difficulty  he  sustained  the  head  above 
the  surface,  still  holding  on  by  the  hair.  The  banks  were  not 
distant,  and  the  little  paddle  which  he  employed  was  susceptible 
of  use  by  one  hand.  Though  thus  encumbered,  he  was  soon 
enabled  to  get  within  his  depth.  This  done,  he  jumped  from  the 
boat,  and  by  very  great  effort  bore  the  unconscious  victim  to  the 
land.  A  shout  from  the  Indians  on  the  opposite  bank,  attested 
their  own  interest  in  the  result ;  but  they  did  not  wait  for  the 
result,  disappearing  in  the  forest  just  at  the  moment  when  re 
turning  consciousness,  on  the  part  of  Occonestoga,  had  rewarded 
Grayson  for  the  efforts  he  had  made  and  still  continued  making 
for  his  recovery. 

"  Thou  art  safe  now,  Occonestoga,"  said  the  young  man  ;  "  but 
thou  hast  swallowed  more  water  of  the  river  than  well  befits 
an  empty  stomach.  How  dost  thou  feel  ?" 

"  Feathers  and  arrows  for  thee,  Opitchi-Manney to,"  muttered  the 
savage,  in  his  own  language,  his  mind  recurring  to  the  previous 
pursuit.  The  youth  continued  his  services  without  pressing  him 


168  THE    FEMASSEE. 

for  answers,  and  his  exha1  jtion  had  been  so  great  that  ha 
could  do  lithe  if  any  thing  fc :  himself.  Unlashing  his  bow  and 
quiver,  wiiicn  nad  been  tied  aecurely  to  his  back,  and  unloosing 
the  belt  aooiu  nis  body,  Gray  son  still  further  contributed  to  his 
relief.  Ac  ^eugth  he  grew  cc  nscious,  and  sufficiently  restored  to 
converse  freely  with  his  preserver ;  and  though  still  gloomy  and 
depressed,  returned  him  thanks,  in  his  own  way,  for  the  timely 
succour  vvliicli  had  saved  him. 

"  Thou  wilt  sro  with  me  to  my  cabin,  Occonestoga  ?" 

"  No  !  Oconestoga  is  a  dog.     The  black  woods  for  Occonestoga. 

e  must  seek  arrows  and  feathers  for  Opitchi-Manneyto  who  came 
to  him  in  tne  swamp." 

The  voutn  Dressed  him  urgently  and  kindly ;  but  finding  him 
obdurate,  and  knowing  well  the  inflexible  character  of  the  Indian, 
he  gave  ut>  (.ne  nope  of  persuading  him  to  his  habitation.  They 
separated  at  length  after  the  delay  of  an  hour, — Grayson  again  in 
his  canoe,  and  Occonestoga  plunging  into  the  woods  in  the  direc 
tion  of  tne  Block  House. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

w  Thu»  nature,  with  an  attribute  most  strange, 
Clothes  even  the  reptile,  working  in  our  thoughts, 
Until  they  weave  themselves  into  a  spell, 
That  wins  us  to  it." 

TUE  afternoon  of  that  day  was  one  of  those  clear,  sweet,  balmy 
afternoons^  such  as  make  of  the  spring  season  in  the  south,  a  holi 
day  term  of  nature.  All  was  animated  life  and  freshness.  The 
month  of  April,  in  that  region,  is,  indeed, 


-"  the  time, 


When  the  merry  birds  do  chime 
Airy  wood-notes  wild  and  free, 
In  secluded  bower  and  tree, 
Season  of  fantastic  change, 
Sweet,  familiar,  wild,  and  strange- 
Time  of  promise,  when  the  leaf 
Has  a  tear  of  pleasant  grief, — 
When  the  winds,  by  nature  coy, 
Do  both  cold  and  heat  alloy, 
Nor  to  either  will  dispense 
Their  delighting  preference." 

The  day  had  been  gratefully  warm  ;  and,  promising  an  eany 
summer,  there  was  a  prolific  show  of  foliage  throughout  the  forest. 
The  twittering  of  a  thousand  vrarious  birds,  and  the  occasional 
warble  of  that  Puck  of  the  American  forests,  the  mocker — the 
Coonelatee,  or  Trick-tongue  of  the  Yemassees — together  with  the 
gleesome  murmur  of  zephyr  and  brook,  gave  to  the  scene  an  aspect 
of  wooing  and  seductive  repose,  that  could  not  fail  to  win  the  sense 
into  a  most  happy  unconsciousness.  The  old  oaken  grove  which 
Bess  Matthews,  in  compliance  with  the  prayer  of  her  lover,  now 
approached,  was  delightfully  conceived  for  such  an  occasion.  All 
things  within  it  seemed  to  breathe  of  love.  The  murmur  of  the 
brooklet,  the  song  of  the  bird,  the  hum  of  the  zephyr  in  the  tr-.* 

8 


170  THE  YEMASSEE. 

top,  had  each  a  corresponding  burden.  The  Providence  smely 
has  its  purpose  in  associating  only  with  the  woods  those  gentle 
and  beautiful  influences  which  are  without  use  or  object  to  the 
obtuse  sense,  and  can  only  be  felt  and  valued  by  a  spirit  of  corre 
sponding  gentleness  and  beauty.  The  scene  itself,  to  the  eye,  was 
of  character  to  correspond  harmoniously  with  the  song  of  birds 
and  the  playful  sport  of  zephyrs.  The  rich  green  of  the  leaves — • 
the  deep  crimson  of  the  wild  flower — the  gemmed  and  floral-knotted 
long  grass  that  carpeted  the  path — the  deep,  solemn  shadows  of 
evening,  and  the  trees  through  which  the  now  declining  sun  was 
enabled  only  here  and  there  to  sprinkle  a  few  drops  from  his 
golden  censer — all  gave  power  to  that  spell  of  quiet,  which,  by 
divesting  the  mind  of  its  associations  of  every-day  and  busy  life, 
throws  it  back  upon  its  early  and  unsophisticated  nature — restor 
ing  that  time,  in  the  elder  and  better  condition  of  humanity, 
.when,  unchanged  by  conventional  influences,  the  whole  business 
of  life  seems  to  have  been  the  worship  of  high  spirits,  and  the 
exercise  of  living,  holy,  and  generous  affections. 

The  scene  and  time  had  a  strong  influence  over  the  maiden,  as 
she  slowly  took  her  way  to  the  place  where  she  was  to  meet  her 
lover.  Bess  Matthews,  indeed,  was  singularly  susceptible  of  such 
influences.  She  was  a  girl  of  heart,  but  a  wild  heart, — a  thing  of 
the  forest, — gentle  as  its  innocentest  flowers,  quite  as  lovely,  and  if, 
unlike  them,  the  creature  of  a  less  fleeting  life,  one,  at  least,  whose 
youth  and  freshness  might  almost  persuade  us  to  regard  her  as 
never  having  been  in  existence  for  a  longer  season.  She  was  also  a 
girl  of  thought  and  intellect — something,  too,  of  a  dreamer: — one 
to  whom  a  song  brought  a  sentiment — the  sentiment  an  emotion, 
and  that  in  turn  sought  for  an  altar  on  which  to  lay  all  the  wor 
ship  of  her  spirit.  She  had  in  her  own  heart  a  far  sweeter  song  than 
that  which  she  occasionally  murmured  from  her  lips.  She  felt  all 
the  poetry,  all  the  truth  of  the  scene — its  passion,  its  inspiration  ; 
and,  with  a  holy  sympathy  for  all  of  nature's  beautiful,  the  associated 
feeling  of  admiration  for  all  that  was  noble,  also,  awakened  "n  her 
mind  a  sentiment,  and  in  her  heart  an  emotion,  that  led  her,  not 
less  to  the  most  careful  forbearance  to  tread  upon  the  humblest 
flower,  than  to  a  feeling  little  short  of  reverence  in  the  contempla- 


THE    YEMAS&EE.  171 

tion  of  the  gigantic  tree.  It  was  her  faith,  with  one  of  the  greatest 
of  modern  poets,  that  the  daisy  enjoyed  its  existence ;  and  that, 
too,  in  a  degree  of  exquisite  perception,  duly  according  with  its 
loveliness  of  look  and  delicacy  of  structure.  This  innate  principle 
of  regard  for  the  beautiful  forest  idiots,  as  we  may  call  its  leaves 
and  flowers,  was  duly  heightened,  we  may  add,  by  the  soft  passion 
of  love  then  prevailing  in  her  bosom  for  Gabriel  Harrison.  She 
loved  him,  as  she  found  in  him  the  strength  of  the  tree  well  com 
bined  with  the  softness  of  the  flower.  Iler  heart  and  fancy  at  once 
united  in  the  recognition  of  his  claims  upon  her  affections  ;  and, 
however  unknown  in  other  respects,  she  loved  him  deeply  and  de 
votedly  for  what  she  knew.  Beyond  what  she  saw — beyond  the 
knowledge  gathered  from  his  uttered  sentiments,  and  the  free  grace 
of  his  manner — his  manliness,  and  playful  frankness — he  was 
scarcely  less  a  mystery  to  her  than  to  her  fatter,  to  whom  mystery 
had  far  less  "of  recommendation.  But  the  secret — and  he  freely 
admitted  that  there  was  a  secret — he  promised  her  should  soon  be 
revealed  ;  and  it  was  pleasant  to  her  to  confide  in  the  assurance. 
She  certainly  longed  for  the  time  to  come ;  and  we  shall  be  doing 
no  discredit  to  her  sense  of  maidenly  delicacy  when  we  say,  that 
she  wished  for  the  development  not  so  much  because  she  desired 
the  satisfaction  of  her  curiosity,  as  because  the  objections  of  her 
sire,  so  Harrison  had  assured  her,  would  then  certainly  be  removed, 
and  their  union  would  immediately  follow. 

"  He  is  not  come,"  she  murmured,  half  disappointed,  as  the  old 
grove  of  oaks  with  all  its  religious  solemnity  of  shadow  lay  before 
her.  She  took  her  seat  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  the  growth  of  a  cen 
tury,  whose  thick  and  knotted  roots,  started  from  their  sheltering 
earth,  shot  even  above  the  long  grass  around  them,  and  ran  in  irre 
gular  sweeps  for  a  considerable  distance  upon  the  surface.  Here 
she  sat  not  long,  for  her  mind  grew  impatient  and  confused  with 
the  various  thoughts  crowding  upon  it — sweet  thoughts  it  may  be, 
for  she  thought  of  him  whom  she  loved, — of  him  almost  only ; 
and  of  the  long  hours  of  happy  enjoyment  which  the  future  had 
in  store.  Then  came  the  fears,  following  fast  upon  the  hopes,  as 
the  shadows  follow  the  sunlight.  The  doubts  of  existence — tht 


172  THE   YEMASSEE. 

brevity  and  the  fluctuations  of  life  ;  these  are  the  contemplations 
even  of  happy  love,  and  these  beset  and  saddened  her  ;  till,  starting 
up  in  that  dreamy  confusion  which  the  scene  not  less  than  the 
subject  of  her  musings  had  inspired,  she  glided  among  the  old 
trees,  scarce  conscious  of  her  movement. 

"  He  does  not  come — he  does  not  come,"  she  murmured,  as  she 
stood  contemplating  the  thick  copse  spreading  before  her,  and 
forming  the  barrier  which  terminated  the  beautiful  range  of  oaks 
which  constituted  the  grove.  How  beautiful  was  the  green  and 
garniture  of  that  little  copse  of  wood.  The  leaves  were  thick,  and 
the  grass  around  lay  folded  over  and  over  in  bunches,  with  here 
and  there  a  wild  flower,  gleaming  from  its  green,  and  making  of  it 
a  beautiful  carpet  of  the  richest  and  most  various  texture.  A 
small  tree  rose  from  the  centre  of  a  clump  around  which  a  wild 
grape  gadded  luxuriantly ;  and,  with  an  incoherent  sense  of  what 
she  saw,  she  lingered  before  the  little  cluster,  seeming  to  survey 
that  which,  though  it  seemed  to  fix  her  eye,  yet  failed  to  fill  her 
thought.  Her  mind  wandered — her  soul  was  far  away ;  and  the 
objects  in  her  vision  were  far  other  than  those  which  occupied  her 
imagination.  Things  grew  indistinct  beneath  her  eye.  The  eye 
rather  slept  than  saw.  The  musing  spirit  had  given  holiday  to 
the  ordinary  senses,  and  took  no  heed  of  the  forms  that  rose,  and 
floated,  or  glided  away,  before  them.  In  this  way,  the  leaf  de 
tached  made  no  impression  upon  the  sight  that  was  yet  bent  upon 
it;  she  saw  not  the  bird,  though  it  whirled,  untroubled  by  a  fear, 
in  wanton  circles  around  her  head — and  the  black-snake,  with  the 
rapidity  of  an  arrow,  darted  over  her  path  without  arousing  a 
single  terror  in  the  form  that  otherwise  would  have  shivered  at  its 
mere  appearance.  And  yet,  though  thus  indistinct  were  all 
things  around  her  to  the  musing  mind  of  the  maiden,  her  eye  was 
yet  singularly  fixed — fastened,  as  it  were,  to  a  single  spot — gathered 
and  controlled  by  a  single  object,  and  glazed,  apparently,  beneath 
a  curious  fascination.  Before  the  maiden  rose  a  little  clump  of 
bushes, — bright  tangled  leaves  flaunting  wide  in  glossiest  green, 
with  vines  trailing  over  them,  thickly  decked  with  blue  and  crim- 
K>n  flowers.  Her  eye  communed  vacantly  with  these ;  fa&tenw! 


THE   YEMASSr<£.  173 

t-  a  star-like  shining  glance — -a  subtle  r.-\y,  that  shot  out  from  th« 
circle  of  green  leaves — seeming  to  be  the  *r  very  eye — and  sending 
out  a  fluid  lustre  that  seemed  to  stream  r cross  the  space  between, 
and  find  its  way  into  her  own  eyes.  Ve  y  piercing  and  beautiful 
was  that  subtle  brightness,  of  the  sweetest  strangest  power.  And 
now  the  leaves  quivered  and  seemed  to  flo-:.t  away,  only  to  return, 
and  the  vines  waved  and  swung  around  'n  fantastic  mazes,  un 
folding  ever-changing  varieties  of  form  and  colour  to  her  gaze  ; 
but  the  star-like  eye  was  ever  steadfast,  bright  and  gorgeous 
gleaming  in  their  midst,  and  still  fastened,  \fith  strange  fondness, 
upon  her  own.  How  beautiful,  with  wondrous  intensity,  did  it 
^learn,  and  dilate,  growing  large  and  more  lustrous  with  every  ray 
which  it  sent  forth.  And  her  own  glance  became  intense,  fixed 
also;  but  with  a  dreaming  sense  that  conjured  up  the  wildest 
fancies,  terribly  beautiful,  that  took  her  soul  away  from  her,  and 
wrapt  k  about  as  with  a  spell.  She  would  liaye  fled,  she  would 
have  flown  ;  but  she  had  not  power  to  move.  Th-5  will  was  wanting 
to  her  flight.  She  felt  that  she  could  have  bent  forward  to  pluck 
the  gem-like  thing  from  the  bosom  of  the  leaf  in  which  it  seemed 
io  grow,  and  which  it  irradiated  with  its  bright  w.'ute  gleam  ;  but 
ever  as  she  aimed  to  stretch  forth  her  hand,  and  bend  forward, 
she  heard  a  rush  of  wings,  and  a  shrill  scream  from  the  tree  above 
her — such  a  scream  as  the  mock-bird  makes,  wl  en,  angrily,  it 
raises  its  dusky  crest,  and  flaps  its  wings  furiously  agairst  its  slender 
sides.  Such  a  scream  seemed  like  a  warning,  and  though  yet  un- 
awakened  io  full  consciousness,  it  startled  her  and  ^orbade  her 
effort.  More  than  once,  in  her  survey  of  this  strange  object,  had 
she  heard  that  shrill  note,  and  still  had  it  carried  to  >er  ear  the 
-  same  note  of  warning,  and  to  her  mind  the  same  vague  Conscious 
ness  of  an  evil  presence.  But  the  star-like  eye  was  yet  ipon  her 
own — a  small,  bright  eye,  quick  like  that  of  a  bird,  now  i  ^-eady  in 
its  place  and  observant  seemingly  only  of  hers,  now  daH  ng  for 
ward  with  all  the  clustering  leaves  about  it,  and  shooting  up  to 
wards  her,  as  if  wooing  her  to  seize.  At  another  moment  iveted 
to  the  vine  which  lay  around  it,  it  would  whirl  round  and  ound, 
dazzlingly  bright  and  beautiful,  even  as  a  torch,  waving  hi 


174  THE    YEMASSEE. 

by  night  in  the  hands  of  some  playful  boy ; — but,  in  all  this  time, 
the  glance  was  never  taken  from  her  own — there  it  grew,  fixed — a 
very  principle  of  light, — and  such  a  light — a  subtle,  burning, 
piercing,  fascinating  gleam,  such  as  gathers  in  vapour  above  th. 
old  grave,  and  binds  us  as  we  look — shooting,  darting  directly  int< 
her  eye,  dazzling  her  gaze,  defeating  its  sense  of  discrimination 
and  confusing  strangely  that  of  perception.  She  felt  dizzy,  for,  a: 
she  looked,  a  cloud  of  colours,  bright,  gay,  various  colours,  floated 
and  hung  like  so  much  drapery  around  the  single  object  that  had 
so  secured  her  attention  and  spell-bound  her  feet.  Her  limbs  feh 
momently  more  and  more  insecure — her  blood  grew  cold,  and  shf 
seemed  to  feel  the  gradual  freeze  of  vein  by  vein,  throughout  he/ 
person.  At  that  moment  a  rustling  was  heard  in  the  branches  of 
the  tree  beside  her,  and  the  bird,  which  had  repeatedly  uttered  a 
single  cry  above  her,  as  it  were  of  warning,  flew  away  from  his 
station  with  a  scream  more  piercing  than  ever.  This  movement 
had  the  effect,  for  which  it  really  seemed  intended,  of  bringing 
back  to  her  a  portion  of  the  consciousness  she  seemed  so  totally 
to  have  been  deprived  of  before.  She  strove  to  move  from  before 
the  beautiful  but  terrible  presence,  but  for  a  while  she  strove  in 
vain.  The  rich,  star-like  glance  still  riveted  her  own,  and  the 
subtle  fascination  kept  her  bound.  The  mental  energies,  however, 
with  the  moment  of  their  greatest  trial,  now  gathered  suddenly  to 
.  her  aid  ;  and,  with  a  desperate  effort,  but  with  a  feeling  still  of 
most  annoying  uncertainty  and  dread,  she  succeeded  partially  in 
the  attempt,  and  threw  her  arms  backwards,  her  hands  grasping 
the  neighbouring  tree,  feeble,  tottering,  and  depending  upon  it  for 
that  support  which  her  own  limbs  almost  entirely  denied  her. 
With  her  movement,  however,  came  the  full  development  of  ths 
powerful  spell  and  dreadful  mystery  before  her.  As  her  feet  re 
ceded,  though  but  a  single  pace,  to  the  tree  against  which  she 
now  rested,  the  audibly  articulated  ring,  like  that  of  a  watch  when 
wound  up  with  the  verge  broken,  announced  the  nature  of  that 
splendid  yet  dangerous  presence,  in  the  form  of  the  monstrous 
rattlesnake,  now  but  a  few  feet  before  her,  lying  coiled  at  the 
bottom  of  a  beautiful  shrub,  with  which,  to  her  dreaming  eye,  many 


THE    YEMASSEE.  175 

of  its  own  glorious  hues  had  become  associated.  She  w&s,  at 
length,  conscious  enough  to  perceive  and  to  feel  all  her  danger ; 
but  terror  had  denied  her  the  strength  necessary  to  fly  from  her 
dreadful  enemy.  There  still  the  eye  glared  beautifully  bright  and 
.•jercing  upon  her  own ;  and,  seemingly  in  a  spirit  of  sport,  the 
insidious  reptile  slowly  unwound  himself  from  his  coil,  but  only  to 
gather  himself  up  again  into  his  muscular  rings,  his  great  flat 
head  rising  in  the  midst,  and  slowly  nodding,  as  it  were,  towards 
her,  the  eye  still  peering  deeply  into  her  own;— the  rattle  still 
slightly  ringing  at  intervals,  and  giving  forth  that  paralyzing 
sound,  which,  once  heard,  is  remembered  for  ever.  The  reptile  all 
this  while  appeared  to  be  conscious  of,  and  to  sport  with,  while 
seeking  to  excite  her  terrors.  Now,  with  its  flat  head,  distended 
mouth,  and  curving  neck,  would  it  dart  forward  its  long  form  to 
wards  her, — its  fatal  teeth,  unfolding  on  either  side  of  its  upper 
jaws,  seeming  to  threaten  her  with  instantaneous  death,  while  its 
powerful  eye  shot  forth  glances  of  that  fatal  power  of  fascination, 
malignantly  bright,  which,  by  paralyzing,  with  a  novel  form  of 
terror  and  of  beauty,  may  readily  account  for  the  spell  it  possesses 
of  binding  the  feet  of  the  timid,  and  denying  to  fear  even  the 
privilege  of  flight.  Could  she  have  fled  !  She  felt  the  necessity ; 
but  the  power  of  her  limbs  was  gone  !  and  there  still  it  lay,  coiling 
and  uncoiling,  its  arching  neck  glittering  like  a  ring  of  brazed 
copper,  bright  and  lurid  ;  and  the  dreadful  beauty  of  its  eye  still 
fastened,  eagerly  contemplating  the  victim,  while  the  pendulous 
rattle  still  rang  the  death  note,  as  if  to  prepare  the  conscious  mind 
for  the  fate  which  is  momently  approaching  to  the  blow.  Mean 
while  the  stillness  became  death-like  with  all  surrounding  objects. 
The  bird  had  gone  with  its  scream  and  rush.  The  breeze  was 
silent.  The  vines  ceased  to  wave.  The  leaves  faintly  quivered  on 
their  stems.  The  serpent  once  more  lay  still ;  but  the  eye  was 
never  once  turned  away  from  the  victim.  Its  corded  muscles  are 
all  in  coil.  They  have  but  to  unclasp  suddenly,  and  the  dreadful 
folds  will  be  upon  her,  its  full  length,  and  the  fatal  teeth  will  strike, 
and  the  deadly  venom  which  they  secrete  will  mingle  with  the 
iifft  blood  in  her  veins. 


176  THE    YEMASSEE. 

The  terrified  damsel,  her  full  consciousness  restored,  but  not  her 
strength,  feels  all  the  danger.  She  sees  that  the  sport  of  the  ter 
rible  reptile  is  at  an  end.  She  cannot  now  mistake  the  horrid 
expression  of  its  eye.  She  strives  to  scream,  but  the  voice  dies 
away,  a  feeble  gurgling  in  her  throat.  Her  tongue  is  paralyzed; 
her  lips  are  sealed — once  more  she  strives  for  flight,  but  her  limbs 
refuse  their  office.  She  has  nothing  left  of  life  but  its  fearful  con 
sciousness.  It  is  in  her  despair,  that,  a  last  effort,  she  succeeds  to 
scream,  a  single  wild  cry,  forced  from  her  by  the  accumulated 
agony  ;  she  sinks  down  upon  the  grass  before  her  enemy — -her  eyes, 
however,  still  open,  and  still  looking  upon  those  which  he  directs 
for  ever  upon  them.  She  sees  him  approach — now  advancing, 
ttow  receding — now  swelling  in  every  part  with  something  of 
anger,  while  his  neck  is  arched  beautifully  like  that  of  a  wild  horse 
under  the  curb ;  until,  at  length,  tired  as  it  were  of  play,  like  the 
at  with  its  victim,  she  sees  the  neck  growing  larger  and  becoming 
completely  bronzed  as  about  to  strike — the  huge  jaws  unclosing 
almost  directly  above  her,  the  long  tubulated  fang,  charged  with 
venom,  protruding  from  the  cavernous  mouth — and  she  sees  no 
more  !  Insensibility  came  to  her  aid,  and  she  lay  almost  lifeless 
ander  the  very  folds  of  the  monster. 

In  that  moment  the  copse  parted — and  an  arrow,  piercing  the 
monster  through  and  through  the  neck,  bore  his  head  forward  to 
the  ground,  alongside  of  the  maiden,  while  his  spiral  extremities, 
v  now  unfolding  in  his  own  agony,  were  actually,  in  part,  writhing 
\  upon  her  person.  The  arrow  came  from  the  fugitive  Occonestoga, 
who  had  fortunately  reached  the  spot,  in  season,  on  his  way  to  the 
Block  House.  He  rushed  from  the  copse,  as  the  snake  fell,  and, 
with  a  stick,  fearlessly  approached  him  where  he  lay  tossing  in 
agony  upon  the  grass.  Seeing  him  advance,  the  courageous  reptile 
.nade  an  effort  to  regain  his  coil,  shaking  the  fearful  rattle  violently 
at  every  evolution  which  he  took  for  that  purpose;  but  the  arrow, 
completely  passing  through  his  neck,  opposed  an  unyielding 
obstacle  to  the  endeavour ;  and  finding  it  hopeless,  and  seeing  the 
new  enemy  about  to  assault  him,  with  something  of  the  spirit  of 
the  white  man  under  like  circumstances,  he  turned  desperately 


THE    YEMASSEE.     '  177 

round,  and  striking  his  charged  fangs,  so  that  they  were  riveted  in 
the  wound  they  made,  into  a  susceptible  part  of  his  own  body,  he 
threw  himself  over  with  a  single  convulsion,  and,  a  moment  after 
lay  dead  beside  the  utterly  unconscious  maiden.* 

*  The  power  of  the  rattlesnake  to  fascinate,  is  a  frequent  faith  among  the 
superstitious  of  the  southern  country-people.  Of  this  capacity  in  reference 
to  birds  and  insects,  frogs,  and  the  smaller  reptiles,  there  is  indeed  little 
question.  Its  power  over  pei'sons  is  not  so  well  authenticated,  although 
numberless  instances  of  this  sort  are  given  by  persons  of  very  excellent 
veracity.  The  above  is  almost  literally  worded  after  a  verbal  narrative 
furnished  the  author  by  an  old  lady,  who  never  dreamed,  herself,  of 
doubting  the  narration.  It  is  more  than  probable,  indeed,  that  the  mind 
,of  a  timid  person,  coming  suddenly  upon  a  reptile  so  highly  venomous 
woiild  for  a  time  be  paralyzed  by  its  consciousness  of  danger,  sufficiently 
so  to  defeat  exertion  for  a  while,  and  deny  escape.  The  authorities  foi 
this  superstition  are,  however,  quite  sufficient  for  the  romancer,  and  in  t> 
work  like  the  present  we  need  no  other. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

*  Com*  with  me  ;  thou  ihalt  hear  of  my  retohre." 

WITHOUT  giving  more  than  a  single  glance  to  the  maiden, 
Occonestoga  approached  the  snake,  and,  drawing  his  knife,  pre 
pared  to  cut  away  the  rattles,  always  a  favourite  Indian  ornament, 
which  terminated  his  elongated  folds.  He  approached  his  victim 
with  a  deportment  the  most  respectful,  and,  after  the  manner  of 
his  people,  gravely,  and  in  the  utmost  good  faith,  apologized  in 
well  set  terms,  in  his  own  language,  for  the  liberty  he  had  already 
taken,  and  that  which  he  was  then  about  to  take.  He  protested 
the  necessity  he  had  been  under  in  destroying  it ;  arid,  urging  his 
desire  to  possess  the  excellent  and  only  evidence  of  his  own  prowess 
in  conquering  so  great  a  warrior,  which  the  latter  carried  at  his 
tail,  he  proceeded  to  cut  away  the  rattles  with  as  much  tenderness 
as  could  have  been  shown  by  the  most  considerate  operator, 
divesting  a  fellow-creature,  still  living,  of  his  limbs.  A  proceeding 
like  this,  so  amusing  as  it  would  seem  to  us,  is  readily  accounted 
for,  when  we  consider  the  prevailing  sentiment  among  the  Indians 
in  reference  to  the  rattlesnake.  With  them  he  is  held  the  geritle- 
|  man,  the  nobleman — the  very  prince  of  snakes.  His  attributes  are 
devoutly  esteemed  among  them,  and  many  of  their  own  habits 
derive  their  existence  from  models  furnished  by  his  peculiarities. 
He  is  brave,  will  never  fly  from  an  enemy,  and  for  this  they  honour 
him.  If  approached,  he  holds  his  ground  and  is  never  unwilling 
for  the  combat.  He  does  not  begin  the  affray,  and  is  content  to 
defend  himself  against  invasion.  He  will  not  strike  without  due 
warning  of  his  intention,  and  when  he  strikes,  the  blow  of  his 
weapon  is  fatal.  It  is  highly  probable,  indeed,  that,  even  the  war* 
n^oop  with  which  the  Indians  preface  their  own  onset,  baa  bee* 


THE    YEMASSEfi.  179 

borrowed  from  the  warning  rattle  of  this  fatal,  but  honourable 
enemy.* 

Many  minutes  had  not  elapsed  before  the  operation  was  corn 
pleted,  and  the  Indian  became  the  possessor  of  the  desired  trophy 
The  snake  had  thirteen  rattles,  and  a  button,  or  incipient  rattle ;  it 
was  therefore  fourteen  years  old — as  it  acquires  the  button  during 
its  first  year,  and  each  succeeding  year  yields  it  a  new  rattle.  As 
Occonestoga  drew  the  body  of  the  serpent  from  that  of  Bess 
Matthews,  her  eyes  unclosed,  though  but  for  an  instant.  The  first 
object  in  her  gaze  was  the  swollen  and  distorted  reptile,  which  the 
Indian  was  just  then  removing  from  her  sight.  Her  terror  was 
arou;sed  anew,  and  with  a  single  shriek  she  again  closed  her  eyes 
in  utter  unconsciousness.  At  that  moment,  Harrison  darted  down 
the  path.  That  single  shriek  had  given  wings  to  his  movement, 
and  rushing  forward,  and  beholding  her  lifted  in  the  arms  of 
Occonestoga,  who,  at  her  cry,  had  come  to  her  support,  and  had 
raised  her  partially  from  the  ground — he  sprang  fiercely  upon  him, 
tore  her  from  his  hold,  and  sustaining  her  with  one  hand,  wielded 
his  hatchet  fiercely  in  the  other  above  his  own  head,  while  directing 
its  edge  upon  that  of  the  Indian.  Occonestoga  looked  up  indiffer 
ently,  almost  scornfully,  and  without  exhibiting  any  wish  to  escape 
the  blow.  This  appearance  of  indifference  or  recklessness  arrested 
the  arm  of  Harrison,  and  caused  him  to  doubt  and  hesitate. 

"Speak,  young  chief!  speak,  Occonestoga  ; — say  what  does  this 
mean  ?  What  have  you  done  to  the  maiden  ?  Quickly  speak,  or 
I  strike." 

"  Strike,  Harrison  I — the  hatchet  is  good  for  Occonestoga.  He 
has  a  death-song  that  is  good.  He  can  die  like  a  man." 

*  This  respect  of  the  Indians  for  the  rattlesnake,  leading  most  usually  to 
much  forbearance  when  they  -encountered  him,  necessarily  resulted  in  the 
greater  longevity  of  this  snake  than  of  any  other.  In  some  cases,  they 
have  been  found  so  overgrown  from  this  forbearance,  as  to  be  capable  of 
swallowing  entire  a  young  fawn.  An  instance  of  this  description  has  been 
related  by  »Le  early  settlers  of  South  Carolina,  and,  well  authenticated,  is 
to  be  found  on  record.  The  movements  of  the  rattlesnake  are  usually 
very  slow,  and  the  circumstance  of  his  taking  prey  so  agile  as  the  fawn, 
would  be  something  in  favour  of  an  extensive  fascinating  faculty.  That 
he  takes  birds  with  some  such  influence  there  is  no  sort  of  question. 


180  THE    YEMASSEE. 

u  What  hast  thou  done  with  the  maiden — tell  me,  Occonestoga, 
ere  I  hew  thee  down  like  a  dog." 

"  Occouestoga  is  a  dog.  Sanutee,  the  father  ot  Occonestoga 
says  he  is  a  dog  of  the  English.  There  is  no  fork  in  the  tongue 
of  Sanutee.  Look  !  The  war-rattle  put  his  eye  on  the  girl  of  the 
pale-face,  and  she  cried  out,  for  his  eye  was  upon  her  to  kill ! 
Look,  Harrison,  it  is  the  arrow  of  Occonestoga,"  and  as  he  spoke 
he  pointed  to  the  shaft  which  still  stuck  in  the  neck  of  the  serpent. 
Harrison,  who  before  had  not  seen  the  snake,  which  the  Indian 
had  thrown  aside  under  the  neighbouring  bush,  now  shivered  as 
with  a  convulsion,  while,  almost  afraid  to  speak,  and  his  face  paling 
like  death  as  he  did  so,  he  cried  to  him  in  horror : — 

"  God  of  Heaven — tell  me,  Occonestoga — say — is  she  struck — 
is  she  struck?"  and  before  he  could  hear  the  reply  his  tremors 
were  so  great  that  he  was  compelled  to  lay  the  still  insensible  form 
of  the  maiden,  unequal  then  to  her  support,  upon  the  grass 
beneath  the  tree. 

The  Indian  smiled,  with  something  of  scornful  satisfaction,  as 
tie  replied — 

"  It  was  the  swift  arrow  of  Occonestoga — and  the  war-rattle  had 
no  bite  for  the  girl  of  the  pale-faces.  The  blood  is  good  in  her 
heart." 

"  Thank  God — thank  God  1  Young  chief  of  the  Yemassee,  I 
thank  thee — I  thank  thee,  Occonestoga — thou  shalt  have  a  rich 
gift — a  noble  reward  for  this;"  and, seizing  the  hand  of  the  youth 
wildly,  he  pressed  it  with  a  tenacious  gripe  that  well  attested  the 
sincerity  of  his  feelings.  But  the  gloom  of  the  recreant  savage 
was  too  deeply  driven  into  his  spirit  by  his  recent  treatment  and 
fugitive  privations,  to  experience  much  pleasure,  either  from  the 
proffered  friendship  or  the  promised  reward  of  the  English.  He 
had  some  feeling  of  nationality  left,  which  a  return  to  sobriety 
always  made  active. 

"  Occonestoga  is  a  dog,"  said  he ;   "  death  for  Occonestoga ! " 

For  a  moment  Harrison  searched  him  narrowly  with  his  eye ; 
but  as  he  saw  in  his  look  nothing  but  the  one  expression  with 
which  an  Indian  in  the  moment  of  excitement  conceals  all  others, 
of  sullen  indifference  to  all  thingp  around  him,  he  forbore  further 


THE    TEMASSEE.  181 

remark,  and  simply  demanded  assistance  in  the  recovery  of  the 
maiden.  Water  was  brought,  and  after  a  few  moments  her  lover 
had  the  satisfaction  of  noting  her  returning  consciousness;  The 
colour  came  back  to  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  opened  upon  the  light, 
her  lips  murmured  in  prayer, — a  prayer  for  protection,  as  if  she 
still  felt  the  dangers  present  and  threatening  still,  from  which  she 
had  escaped  so  happily.  But  the  glance  of  her  lover  re 
assured  her. 

"  Oh,  Gabriel,  such  a  dream — such  a  horrible  dream,"  and  she 
shuddered  and  looked  anxiously  around  her. 

"  Ay,  dearest,  such  as  I  trust  you  will  never  again  suffer.  But 
fear  not.  You  are  now  safe  and  entirely  unhurt.  Thanks  to  our 
brave  friend  Occonestoga  here,  whose  arrow  has  been  your  safety." 

'l  Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  young  chief — I  know  thee  ;  I  shall 
remember,"  and  she  looked  gratefully  to  the  Indian,  whose  head 
simply  nodded  a  recognition  of  her  acknowledgment. 

"  But  where,  Gabriel,  is  the  monster  ?  Oh !  how  its  eye  dazzled 
and  ensnared  me.  I  felt  as  if  my  feet  were  tied,  and  my  knees 
had  lost  all  their  strength." 

44  There  he  lies,  Bess,  and  a  horrible  monster  he  is,  indeed.  See 
there,  his  rattles,  thirteen  and  a  button — an  old  snake,  whose  blow 
must  have  been  instant  death  !" 

The  maiden  shuddered  as  she  looked  upon  the  reptile  to  whose 
venom  she  had  so  nearly  fallen  a  victim.  It  was  now  swollen  to 
a  prodigious  size  from  the  natural  effects  of  its  own  poison.  In 
places  about  its  body,  which  the  fatal  secretion  had  most  easily 
affected,  it  had  bulged  out  into  putrid  lumps,  almost  to  bursting ; 
while,  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  its  attenuated  length,  the 
linked  diamonds  which  form  the  ornament  of  its  back,  had,  from 
the  original  dusky  brown  and  sometimes  bronze  of  their  colour, 
"now  assumed  a  complexion  of  spotted  green — livid  and  diseased. 
Its  eyes,  however,  though  glazed,  had  not  yet  lost  all  of  that 
original  and  awful  brightness,  which,  when  looking  forth  in  anger, 
nothing  can  surpass  for  terrific  beauty  of  expression.  The  powers 
of  this  glance  none  may  well  express,  and  few  imagine  ;  and  when 
we  take  into  consideration  the  feeling  of  terror  with  which  the  timid 
mind  is  apt  to  contemplate  an  object  known  to  be  so  fatal,  it  will 


182  THE   YEMASSEE. 

not  be  difficult  to  account  for  its  possession  of  the  charm  commonly 
ascribed  to  this  reptile  in  the  southern  country,  by  which,  it  is  the 
vulgar  faith,  he  can  compel  the  bird  from  the  highest  tree  to  leave 
his  perch,  shrieking  with  fear  and  full  of  the  most  dreadful  con 
sciousness,  struggling  with  all  the  power  of  its  wings,  and  at  last, 
after  every  effort  has  proved  fruitless,  under  the  influence  of  thai 
unswerving  glance,  to  descend  even  into  the  jaws  which  lie  wait 
ing  to  receive  it.  Providence  in  this  way  has  seemingly  found  it 
necessary  to  clothe  even  with  a  moral  power  the  evanescent  and 
merely  animal  nature  of  its  creation ;  and,  with  a  due  wisdom, 
for,  as  the  rattlesnake  is  singularly  slow  in  its  general  movements, 
it  might  suffer  frequently  from  want  of  food  unless  some  such 
power  had  been  assigned  it.  The  study  of  all  nature  with  a  little 
more  exactitude,  would  perhaps  discover  to  us  an  enlarged  instinct 
in  every  other  form  of  life,  which  a  narrow  analysis  might  almost 
set  down  as  the  fullest  evidence  of  an  intellectual  existence. 

The  interview  between  Harrison  and  Bess  Matthews  had  been 
especially  arranged  with  reference  to  a  discussion  of  various  matters, 
important  to  both,  and  affecting  the  relations  which  existed  between 
them.  But  it  was  impossible,  in  the  prostrate  and  nervous  condi 
tion  in  which  he  found  her,  that  much  could  be  thought  or  said  of 
other  matters  than  those  which  had  been  of  the  last  few  moments' 
occurrence.  Still  they  lingered,  and  still  they  strove  to  converse 
on  their  affairs;  despite  the  presence  of  Occonestoga,  who  sat 
patiently  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  without  show  of  discontent  or  sign  of 
hunger,  though,  for  a  term  of  at  least  eighteen  hours,  he  had  eaten 
nothing.  Tn  this  lies  one  of  the  chief  merits  of  an  Indian  warrior — 

"  Severe  the  school  that  made  him  bear  ' 
The  ills  of  life  without  a  tear — 
And  stern  the  doctrine  that  denied 
The  chieftain  fame,  the  warrior  pride; 
Who,  urged  by  nature's  wants  expressed 
The  need  that  hungered  in  his  breast — 
Or,  when  beneath  his  foeinan's  knife, 
Who  uttered  recreant  prayer  for  life — 
Or,  in  the  chase,  whose  strength  was  spen  i, 
Or  in  the  fight  whose  knee  was  bent, 
Or,  when  with  tale  of  coming  fight 


THE    YEMASSEE.  188 

Who  sought  his  allies'  lodge  by  night, 
And  ere  his  missives  well  were  told, 
Complained  of  hunger  wet,  'and  cold. 
'  A  woman,  if  in  fight  his  foe, 
Could  give,  yet  not  receive  the  blow — 
Or,  if  undext'rously  and  dull, 

His  hand  and  knife  had  failed  to  win 
The  dripping,  warm  scalp  from  the  scull 

To  trim  his  yellow  mocasin." 

'Thus,  a  perfect  embodiment  of  the  character,  so  wrought  and  so 
described,  Occonestoga,  calm,  sullen,  and  stern,  sat  beneath  the 
tree,  without  look  or  word,  significant  of  that  fatigue  and  hunger 
under  which  he  must  have  been  seriously  suffering.  lie  surveyed, 
with  something  like  scorn,  those  evidences  between  the  lovers  of 
that  nice  and  delicate  affection  which  belongs  only  to  the  highest 
forms  of  civilization.  At  length,  bidding  him  wait  his  return,- 
Harrison  took  the  way  with  Bess,  who  was  now  sufficiently  restored 
for  the  effort,  to  the  cottage  of  her  father.  It  was  not  long  before 
he  returned  to  the  savage,  whose  hand  he  again  shook  cordially 
and  affectionately,  while  repeating  his  grateful  promise  of  reward. 
Then,  turning  to  a  subject  at  that  time  strongly  present  in  his 
mind,  he  inquired  into  the  recent  demonstrations  of  his  people. 

"  Occonestoga,  what  news  is  this  of  the  Yemassee  ?  lie  is  angry, 
is  he  not  ?" 

"Angry  to  kill,  Harrison.  Is  not  the  scout  on  the  path  of 
Occonestoga — Occonestoga,  the  son  of  Sanutee  ? — look  !  the  toma- 
nawk  of  Sanutee  shook  in  the  eyes  of  Occonestoga. — The  swift  foot, 
the  close  bush,  the  thick  swamp  and  the  water — they  were  the 
friends  of  Occonestoga.  Occonestoga  is  a  dog. — The  scouts  of 
-Yemassee  look  for  him  in  the  swamps." 

"You  m  ..st  oe  nmigry  and  weary,  Occonestoga.  Come  with  me 
to  the  Block  Hoase,  where  there  are  meat  and  drink." 

"  Harrison  is  mend  to  Occonestoga  ?" 

"  Surely  I  am,"  was  the  reply. 

"The  good  friend  will  kill  Occonestoga?"  wse  the  demand,] 
uttered  in  tones  of  more  solicitude  than  is  common  to  the  Indian,  j 

"  Kill  you  ?  no  !  why  should  I  kill  you  ?" 


184  THE   YEMASSEE. 

"  It  is  good !  knife  Occonestoga,  Englishman-;  put  the  sharp 
tooth  here,  in  his  heart,  for  the  father  of  Oceonestoga  has  a  curse 
for  his  head!  Sanutee  has  sworn  him  to  Opitchi-Manneyto !  will 
not  the  chief  of  the  English  put  the  sharp  knife  here?"  The  en 
treaty  was  earnestly  made.  The  uttermost  depths  of  despair 
seemed  to  have  been  sounded  by  the  outcast. 

"  No,  Occonestoga,  no.  I  will  do  no  such  thing.  Thou  shalt 
live  and  do  well,  and  be  at  friendship  with  thy  father  and  thy 
people.  Come  with  me  to  the  Block  House  and  get  something  to 
eat.  We  will  talk  over  this  affair  of  thy  people.  Come  with  me, 
young  chief,  all  will  be  right  ere  many  days.  Come  !" 

The  melancholy  savage  rose,  passively  resigned  to  any  will,  hav 
ing  none  of  his  own.  In  silence  he  followed  his  conductor  to  the 
Block  House,  where,  under  the  instructions  of  Harrison,  Granger 
*nd  his  wife  received  him  with  the  kindliest  solicitude. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


44  And  wherefore  sings  he  that  strange  song  of  death, 
That  song  A  sorrow  ?     Is  the  doom  at  hand  ? " 


THE  wife  of  Granger  soon  provided  refreshments  for  the  young 
savage,  of  which  he  ate  sparingly,  and  without  much  seeming  con 
sciousness  of  what  he  was  doing.     Harrison  did  not  trouble  him 
much  with  remark  or  inquiry,  but  busied  himself  in  looking  after 
the  preparations  for  the  defence  of  the  building.    For  this  purpose, 
Hector  and  himself  occupied  an  hour  in  the  apartment  adjoining 
that  in  which  the  household  concerns  of  Granger  were  carried  on. 
In  this   apartment  Hector  kept  Dugdale,  a  famous  bloodhound, 
supposed  to  have  been  brought  from  the  Caribbees,  which,  when 
very  young,  Harrison  had  purchased  from  a  Spanish  trader.     This 
dog  was  of  a  peculiar  breed,  and  resembled  in  some  respects  the 
Irish  wolf-hound,  while  having  all  the  thirst  and  appetite  for  blood 
which  distinguished  the  more  ancient  Slute  or  Sleuth-hound  of  the 
Scots.     It  is  a  mistake   to   suppose   that  the  Spaniards  brought 
these  dogs  to  America.     They  found  them  here,  actually  in  use  by 
the  Indians  and  for  like  purposes,  and  only  perfected  their  train 
ing,  while  stimulating -them  in  the  pursuit  of  man.    The  dog  Dug2* 
dale  had  been  partially  trained   after  their  fashion  to  hunt  the 
Indians,  and  even  under  his   present   owner,  it  was  not  deemed 
unbecoming  that  he  should  be  prepared  for  the  purposes  of  war 
upon  the  savages,  by  the  occasional  exhibition  of  a  stuffed  figure, 
so  made  and  painted  as  to  resemble  a  naked  Indian,  around  whose  * 
neck  a  lump'of  raw  and  bleeding  beef  was  occasionally  suspended. 
This  was  shown  him  while  chained, — from  any  near  approach  he 
was  withheld  until  his  appetite  had   been  so  wrought  upon  that 
longer  restraint  would  have  been  dangerous  ana  impossible.      The 
training  of  these  dogs,  as  known  to  the  early  French  and  Spanish 


186  THE   YEMASSEE. 

settlers,  by  both  of  whom  they  were  in  common  use  for  the  pur 
pose  of  war  with  the  natives,  is  exceeding  curious ;  and  so  fierce 
under  this  sort  of  training  did  they  become  in  process  of  time 
that  it  was  found  necessary  to  restrain  them  in  cages  while  thus 
stimulated,  until  the  call  to  the  field,  and  the  prospect  of  imme 
diate  strife,  should  give  an  opportunity  to  the  exercise  of  thei; 
mallayed  rapacity.  In  the  civil  commotions  of  Hayti,  the  most 
formidable  enemies  known  to  the  insurrectionists  were  the  fierce 
Jogs  which  had  been  so  educated  by  the  French.  The  dog  of 
Harrison  had  not,  however,  been  greatly  exercised  by  his  present 
owner  after  this  fashion.  He  had  been  simply  required  to  follow 
and  attend  upon  his  master,  under  the  conduct  of  Hector,  for  both 
of  whom  his  attachments  had  become  singularly  strong.  But  the 
early  lessons  of  his  Spanish  masters  had  not  been  forgotten  by 
Dugdale,  who,  in  the  war  of  the  Carolinians  with  the  Coosaws, 
following  his  master  into  battle,  proved  an  unlooked-for  auxiliar 
of  the  one,  and  an  enemy  whose  very  appearance  struck  terror  into 
the  other.  So  useful  an  ally  was  not  to  be  neglected,  and  the 
otuffed  figure  which  had  formed  a  part  of  the  property  of  the 
animal  in  the  sale  by  his  Spanish  master,  was  brought  into  occa 
sional  exercise  and  use,  under  the  charge  of  Hector,  in  confirming 
Dugdale's  warlike  propensities.  In  this  exercise,  with  the  figure 
of  a  naked  Indian  perched  against  one  corner,  and  a  part  of  a 
deer's  entrails  hanging  around  his  neck,  Hector,  holding  back  the 
dog  by  a  stout  rope  drawn  around  a  beam,  the  better  to  embarrass 
him  at  pleasure,  was  stimulating  at  the  same  time  his  hunger  and 
ferocity. 

"  Does  Dugdale  play  to-day,  Hector  ?"  inquired  his  master. 

"  He  hab  fine  sperits,  maussa — berry  fine  sperits.  I  kin  hardly 
keep  'em  in.  See  da,  now—"  and,  as  the  slave  spoke,  the  dog 
broke  away,  dragging  the  rope  suddenly  through  the  hands  of  the 
holder,  and,  without  remarking  the  meat,  ran  crouching  to  the 
feet  of  Harrison. 

"  Him  nebber  forgit  you,  maussa,  ebber  since  you  put  your 
hand  down  he  troat." 

Harrison  snapped  his  fingers,  and  motioning  with  his  hand  to 
the  bleeding  entrails  of  the  deer  around  the  neck  of  the  figure, 


THE   YEMASSEE.  187 

the  hound  sprang  furiously  upon  it,  and  dragging  it  to  the  floor, 
planted  himself  across  the  body,  while,  with  his  formidable  teeth, 
he  tore  away  the  bait  from  the  neck  where  it  was  wound,  lacerat 
ing  the  figure  at  every  bite,  in  a  manner  which  would  have  soon 
deprived  the  living  man  of  all  show  of  life.  Having  given  some 
directions  to  the  slave,  Harrison  returned  to  the  apartment  where 
Jae  had  left  the  Indian. 

Occonestoga  sat  in  a  corner  mournfully  croning  over,  in  ai 
uncouth  strain,  something  of  a  song,  rude,  sanguinary,  in  his  owi 
wild  language.  Something  of  the  language  was  known  to  Harri 
son,  but  not  enough  to  comprehend  the  burden  of  what  he  san;( 
But  the  look  and  the  manner  of  the  savage  were  so  solemn  an. 
imposing,  so  strange  yet  so  full  of  dignified  thought,  that  the  En^r 
lishinan  did  not  venture  to  interrupt  him.  He  turned  to  Grange--, 
who,  with  his  wife,  was  partially  employed  in  one  corner  of  tba 
apartment,  folding  up  some  of  his  wares  and  burnishing  others. 

"  What  does  he  sing,  Granger  ?'   he  asked  of  the  trader. 

u  His  death  song,  sir.  It  is  something  very  strange — but  he 
has  been  at  it  now  for  some  time ;  and  the  Indian  does  not  employ 
that  song  unless  with  a  near  prospect  of  death.  He  has  probably 
had  some  dream  or  warning,  and  they  are  very  apt  to  believe  in 
such  things." 

"  Indeed  !— his  death-song — "  murmured  Harrison,  wlr.le  he 
listened  attentively  to  the  low  chant  which  the  Indian  still  kept 
up.  At  his  request,  forbearing  his  labour,  Granger  listened  also, 
and  translated  at  intervals  the  purport  of  many  of  the  stanza. 

"  What  is  the  Serat'ee,"  in  his  uncouth  lyric,  sang  the  melancholy 
Indian — 

"  What  is  the  Seratee  I— 
He  is  but  a  dog 
Sneaking  in  the  long  grass — 
I  have  stood  before  him, 
And  he  did  not  look — 

By  his  hair  I  took  him, 

By  the  single  tuft — 
From  his  head  I  tore  it, 
With  it  came  the  scalp, — 
On  my  thigh  I  wore  it — 


188  THE    YEMASSEE. 

With  the  chiefs  I  stood, 
And  they  gave  me  honour, 
Made  of  me  a  chief, 
To  the  sun  they  held  me, 
And  aloud  the  prophet 
Bade  me  be  a  chief — 
Chief  of  all  the  Yemassee — 
Feather  chief  and  arrow  chief — 
Chief  of  all  the  Yemassee," 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  uncouth  verse,  he  proceeded  in  A 
different  tone  and  manner,  and  his  present  form  of  speech  con 
stituted  a  break  or  pause  in  the  song. 

"  That  Opitcln-Manneyto — wherefore  is  he  wroth  with  the  young 
chief  who  went  on  the  war-path  against  the  Seratee  I  He  made 
slaves  for  him  from  the  dogs  of  the  long  grass.  Let  Opitchi-Man- 
neyto  hear.  Occonestoga  is  a  brave  chief,  he  hath  struck  his 
hatchet  into  the  lodge  of  the  Savannah,  when  there  was  a  full  «mL 
in  the  forests." 

"  Now,"  said  Granger,  "he  is  going  to  tell  us  of  another  of  hi* 
achievements."  Occonestoga  went  on — 

'Hear,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Hear  Occonestoga  speak — 
Who  of  the  Savannah  stood 
In  the  council,  in  the  fight — 
With  the  gallant  Suwanneef — 
Bravest  he,  of  all  the  brave, 
Like  an  arrow  path  in  fight — 
When  he  came,  his  tomahawk — 
(Hear,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Not  a  forked  tongue  is  mine — ) 
Frighted  the  brave  Yemassee — 
Till  Occonestoga  came — 
Till  Occonestoga  stood 
Face  to  face  with  Suwannee, 
By  the  old  Satilla  swamp. 
Then  his  eyes  were  in  the  mud — 
With  these  hands  I  tore  away 
The  war  ringlet  from  his  head — 
With  it  came  the  bleeding  scalp— 
Suwaunee  is  in  the  mud; 


THE    YEMASSEE.  189 

Frighted  back,  his  warriors  run, 
Left  him  buried  in  the  mud — 
Ho!  the  gray-wolf  speaks  aloud. 
Hear,  Opitchi-Manneyto; 
He  had  plenty  food  that  night, 
And  for  me  he  speaks  aloud — 
Suwannee  is  in  his  jaw — 
Look,  Opitehi-Mauneyto — 
See  him  tear  Suwannee's  side, 
See  him  drink  Suwannee's  blood— 
With  his  paw  upon  his  breast, 
Look,  he  pulis  the  heart  away, 
And  his  nose  is  searching  deep, 
Clammy,  thick  with  bloody  drink, 
In  the  hollow  where  it  lay. 
Look,  Opitchi-Manneyto,  \ 

Look,  the  grey-wolf  speaks  for  me." 

Then  after  this  wild  and  barbarous  chant,  which,  verse  aftei 
verse,  Granger  rendered  to  Harrison,  a  pause  of  a  few  moments 
was  suffered  to  succeed,  in  which,  all  the  while  in  the  profoundest 
silence,  the  young  warrior  continued  to  wave  his  head  backwards 
and  forwards  at  regular  intervals. 

"He  has  had  a  warning  certainly,  captain;  I  have  seen  them 
frequently  go  on  so.  Now,  he  begins  again." 

Not  singing,  but  again  addressing  the  evil  deity,  Occonestoga 
began  with  the  usual  adjuration. 

"  Arrows  and  feathers,  burnt  arrows  and  feathers— a  bright  flame 
for  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto.  Look  not  dark  upon  the  young:  brave 
of  Yemassee.  Hear  his  song  of  the  war  path  and  the  victory." 

This  said,  he  resumed  the  chant  in  a  burden  of  less  personal, 
and  more  national  character,  a  more  sounding  and  elevated  strain, 
and  which,  in  the  translation  of  Granger,  :  ecessarily  lost  much 
of  its  native  sublimity. 

'*  Mighty  is  the  Yemassee, 
Strong  in  the  trial, 
Fearless  in  the  strife, 
Terrible  in  wrath — 
Look,  Opitchi-Manneyto—- 
H«  «  like  the  rash  of  clonda 


190  THE    YEMASSEE. 

He  is  like  the  storm  by  night, 
When  the  tree-top  bends  and  shivers, 
When  the  lodge  goes  down. 
The  Westo  and  the  Edisto, 
What  are  they  to  him? — 
Like  the  brown  leaves  to  the  cold, 
Look,  they  shrink  before  his  touch, 
Shrink  and  shiver  as  he  comes — 
Mighty  is  the  Yemassee." 

Harrison  now  ventured  to  interrupt  the  enthusiastic  but  stiL 
sullen  warrior.  He  interrupted  him  with  a  compliment,  confirm 
ing  that  which  he  had  himself  been  uttering,  to  the  prowess  of  his 
nation. 

"That  is  a  true  song,  Occonestoga — thai  in  praise  of  your 
nation.  They  are  indeed  a  brave  people ;  but  I  fear  under  wild 
management  now.  But  come — here  is  some  drink,  it  will 
strengthen  you." 

"  It  is  good,"  said  he,  drinking,  "  it  is  good — good  for  strength. 
The  English  is  a  friend  to  Occonestoga." 

"We  have  always  tried  to  be  so,  Occonostoga,  as  you  should 
know  by  this  time.  But  speak  to  me  of  Focota-ligo.  What 
have  the  people  been  doing  there?  What  maddens  them, 
and  wherefore  should  they  grow  angry  with  their  English 
brothers  ?" 

"  The  Yemassee  is  like  the  wolf — he  smells  blood  on  the  track 
jf  the  hunter,  when  the  young  cub  is  carried  away.  He  is  blind, 
dke  the  rattlesnake,  with  the  poison  of  the  long  sleep,  when  he 
first  comes  out  in  the  time  of  the  green  corn.  He  wants  blood  to 
drink — he  would  strike  the  enemy." 

"  I  see.  The  Yemassees  are  impatient  of  peace.  They  would  go 
upon  the  war-path,  and  strike  the  English  as  their  enemies.  Is 
this  what  you  think,  Occonestoga  ?" 

"  Harrison  speaks !  The  English  is  a  friend  to  Yemassee,  but 
femassee  will  not  hear  the  word  of  Occonestoga.  Sanutee  says 
Jie  tongue  of  .Occonestoga  has  a  fork — he  speaks  in  two  voices." 

"They  are  mad,  young  brave — but  not  so  mad,  I  think,  as  to  go 
on  the  war-path  without  an  object.  At  this  moment  they  cou'ld 
not  hope  to  be  successful,  and  would  find  it  destructive." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  191 

9  The  thought  of  Occonestoga  is  here.  They  will  go  on  the  war 
path  against  the  English." 

"  Ha ! — If  you  think  so,  Occonestoga,  you  must  be  our  friend." 

"  Cha !  Cha !  Occonestoga  is  too  much  friend  to  the  English." 

"  Not  too  much,  not  too  much — not  more  than  they  will  reward 
you  for." 

"Will  the  strong  water  of  the  English  make  Occonestoga  to  be 
the  son  of  Sanutee  ?  Will  the  meat  carry  Occonestoga  to  the 
young  braves  of  the  Yemassee  ?  Will  they  sleep  till  he  speaks  for 
them  to  wake  ?  Look,  Harrison,  the  death-song  is  made  for 
Occonestoga." 

"  Not  so — there  is  no  cause  yet  for  you  to  sing  the  death-song 
of  the  young  warrior." 

"  Occonestoga  has  said  ! — he  has  seen — it  came  to  him  when  he 
ate  meat  from  the  hands  of  the  trader." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  all  owing  to  your  fatigue  and  hunger,  Occonestoga. 
You  have  long  years  of  life  before  you,  and  still  have  some  service 
to  perform  fo/  your  friends,  the  English.  You  must  find  out  for 
us  certainty  whether  your  people  mean  to  go  on  the  war-path  or 
not — where  they  will  strike  first,  and  when  ;  and  above  all,  whether 
any  other  tribes  join  with  them.  You  must  go  for  us  back  to 
Pocota-ligo.  You  must  watch  the  steps  of  the  chiefs,  and  bring 
word  of  what  they  intend." 

An  overpowering  sense  of  his  own  shame  as  he  listened  to  this 
requisition  of  Harrison,  forced  his  head  down  upon  his  bosom, 
while  the  gloom  grew  darker  upon  his  face.  At  length  he 
exclaimed — 

"  It  is  no  good  talk  :  must  Occonestoga  be  a  dog  for  the  English  ? 
The  tomahawk  of  Sanutee  is  good  for  a  dog." 

"  Wherefore  this,  young  chief  of  the  Yemassee  ? — What  mean 
you  by  this  speech  ?" 

"  Young  chief  of  Yemassee  !"  exclaimed  the  savage,  repeating 
the  phrase  of  Harrison  as  if  in  derision — "  said  you  not  the  young 
chief  of  Yemassee  should  hunt  his  people  like  a  dog  in  the  cover 
of  the  bush  ?" 

"  Not  like  a  dog,  Occonestoga,  but  like  a  good  friend,  as  well  tc 
thd  English  as  to  the  Yemassee.  Is  net  peace  good  for  both  ?  I* 


192  THE    YEMASSEE. 

is  peace,  not  war,  that  the  English  desire ;  but  if  there  be  wai 
Occonestoga,  they  will  take  all  the  scalps  of  your  nation." 

"The  English  must  look  to  his  own  scalp,"  cried  the  young 
man,  fiercely, — "  the  hand  of  the  Yemassee  is  ready  ; — "  and  as  he 
spoke,  for  a  moment  his  eye  lightened  up,  and  his  form  rose  erect 
from  the  place  where  he  had  been  sitting,  while  a  strong  feeling 
of  nationality  in  his  bosom  aroused  him  into  something  like  the 
warlike  show  of  an  eloquent  chief  inspiriting  his  tribe  for  the  fight. 
But  Granger,  who  had  been  watchful,  came  forward  with  a  cup  of 
spirits,  which,  without  a  word,  he  now  handed  him.  The  youth 
seized  it  hurriedly,  drank  it  off  at  a  single  effort,  and,  in  that  act, 
the  momentary  enthusiasm  which  had  lightened  up,  with  a  show 
of  still  surviving  consciousness  and  soul,  the  otherwise  desponding 
and  degraded  features,  passed  away  ;  and  sinking  again  into  his 
seat,  he  replied  to  the  other  portion  of  the  remark  of  Harrison : 

"  It  is  good,  what  the  English  speaks.  Peace  is  good — peace  for 
the  Yernassee — peace  for  the  English — peace — peace  for  Occo 
nestoga — Occonestoga  speaks  for  peace." 

"  Then  let  Occonestoga  do.  as  I  wish  him.  Let  him  go  this  very 
night  to  Pocota-ligo.  Let  hi?  eye  take  the  track  of  the  chiefs', 
and  look  at  their  actions.  Let  him  come  back  to-morrow,  and 
say  all  that  he  has  seen,  and  claim  his  reward  from  the  English." 

"  There  is  death  for  Occonestoga  if  the  Yemassee  scout  finds  his 
track." 

"  But  the  young  chief  has  an  eye  like  the  hawk — a  foot  like  the 
sneaking  panther,  and  a  body  limber  as  the  snake.  He  can  see 
his  enemy  afar — he  can  hide  in  the  thick  bush — he  can  He  still 
under  the  dead  timber  when  the  hunter  steps  over  it." 

"  And  rise  »o  strike  him  in  the  heel  like  the  yellow-belly  moc 
casin.  Yes  !  The  young  chief  is  a  great  warrior — the  Seratee  is 
a  dog,  the  Savannah  is  a  dog — Look,  his  legs  have  the  scalp  of 
Suwannee  and  Chareco.  Occonestoga  is  a  great  warrior." 

The  vanity  of  the  savage  once  enlfcted,  and  his  scruples  were 
soon  overcome.  An  additional  cup  of  spirits  which  Granger  again 
furnished  him,  concluded  the  argument,  and  he  avowed  himself 
ready  for  the  proposed  adventure.  His  preparations  were  soon 
completed,  and  when  the  night  had  fairly  set  in,  the  fugitive  was 


THE     YEMASSEE.  19$ 

on  the  scent,  and  again  within  the  boundary  lines  of  his  nation , 
and  cautiously  threading  his  way,  with  all  the  skill  and  cunning 
of  an  Indian,  among  the  paths  of  the  people  whom  he  had  so  V 
grievously  incensed.  He  knew  the  danger,  but  he  was  vain  of  his 
warrior  and  hunter  skill.  lie  did  not  fear  death,  for  it  is  the  habi 
tual  practice  of  the  Indian's  thought  to  regard  it  as  a  part  of  his 
existence ;  and  his  dying  ceremonies  form  no  inconsiderable  part 
of  the  legacy  of  renown  which  is  left  to  his  children.  But  had 
he  known  the  doom  which  had  been  pronounced  against  him, 
along  with  the  other  chiefs,  and  which  had  been  already  executed 
upon  them  by  the  infuriated  people,  he  had  never  ventured  for  an 
instant  upor.  so  dangerous  a  commission. 


CHAPTER    XXIIi. 

"  What  lore  is  like  a  mother's  ?     You  may  bre&x 
The  heart  that  holds  it — you  may  trample  it 
In  shame  and  sorrow  ;  bat  you  may  not  tear 
One  single  link  away  that  keeps  it  there." 

conscious  only  of  his  design  at  starting,  the  young  ano 
profligate  savage,  on  crossing  to  the  opposite  shore,  which  he 
did  just  at  the  Block  House,  grew  more  sensible,  not  only  in 
reference  to  the  object  of  his  journey,  but  to  the  dangers  which 
necessarily  came  along  with  it.  Utterly  ignorant,  as  yet,  of  that 
peculiar  and  unusual  doom  which  had  been  pronounced  against 
himself  and  the  other  chiefs,  and  already  executed  upon  them, 
he  had  yet  sufficient  reason  to  apprehend  that,  if  taken,  his  punish 
ment,  death  probably,  would  be  severe  enough.  Apprehending 
this  probability,  the  fear  which  it  inspired  was  not  however  suffi 
cient  to  discourage  him  from  an  adventure  which,  though  pledged 
for  its  performance  in  a  moment  of  partial  inebriation,  was  yet 
held  by  the  simple  Indian  to  be  all-binding  upon  him.  Firmly 
resolved,  therefore,  upon  the  fulfilment  of  his  promise  to  Harrison, 
>vho,  with  Granger  and  others,  had  often  before  employed  him, 
iliough  on  less  dangerous  missions,  he  went  forward,  preparing  to 
watch  the  progress  of  events  among  the  Yemassees,  and  to  report 
duly  the  nature  of  their  warlike  proceedings. 

The  aim  of  Harrison  was  preparation,  and  the  purpose  was  there 
fore  of  the  highest  importance  upon  which  Occonestoga  had  bees 
sent.  The  generally  exposed  situation  of  the  whole  frontier  occu 
pied  by  the  whites,  with  the  delay  and  difficulty  of  warlike  prepa 
ration,  rendered  every  precautionary  measure  essential  on  the  part 
of  the  Carolinians.  For  this  reason,  a  due  and  proper  intelligence 
pf  the  means,  designs,  and  strength  of  their  adversaries,  became 
absolutely  necessary ;  particularly  as  the  capricious  nature  of 
lavage  affections  makes  it  donhtful  whether  they  can,  for  any 


THE    YEMASSEE.  195 

length  of  time,  continue  in  peace  and  friendship.  How  far  Occo 
nestoga  may  stand  excused  for  the  part  which  he  had  taken  against 
'  his  countrymen,  whatever  may  have  been  the  character  of  theii 
cause,  is  a  question  not  necessary  for  our  consideration  here.  It  k 
certain  that  the  degradation  consequent  upon  his  intemperance, 
had  greatly  contributed  towards  blunting  that  feeling  of  nationality, 
which  is  no  small  part  of  the  honest  boast  of  every  Indian  warrior. 
Night  had  fairly  shrouded  the  forest  when  the  young  chief 
commenced  his  journey.  But  he  knew  the  path,  by  night  as  by 
day,  with  a  familiarity  begun  in  childhood.  His  ear,  quick,  keen, 
and  discriminating  by  his  education,  could  distinguish  between  and 
identify  the  movement  of  every  native  of  the  woodland  cover.  He 
knew  the  slight  and  hurried  rustle  of  the  black  snake,  from  the 
slow,  dignified  sweep  of  the  rattle  ;  and,  drunk  or  sober,  the  bear 
in  the  thicket,  or  the  buck  bounding  along  the  dry  pine-land  ridge, 
were  never  mistaken,  one  for  the  other,  by  our  forest  warrior. 
These,  as  they  severally  crossed  or  lay  in  his  path — for  the  rattle 
snake  moves  at  his  own  pleasure — he  drove  aside  or  avoided  ;  and 
when  contradictory  sounds  met  his  ear,  doubtful  in  character  or 
significant  of  some  dangerous  proximity,  then  would  the  warrior 
sink  down  into  the  bush  or  under  the  cover  of  the  fallen  tree,  o» 
steal  away  into  the  sheltering  shadow  of  the  neighbouring  copse, 
without  so  much  as  a  breath  or  whisper.  Such  precautions  as 
these  became  more  and  more  necessary  as  he  drew  nigher  to  the 
homestead  of  his  people.  The  traces  of  their  presence  thickened 
momently  around  him.  Now  the  torch  flared  across  his  eye,  and 
now  the  hum  of  voices  came  with  the  sudden  gust ;  and,  more  than 
once,  moving  swiftly  across  his  path, stole  along  a  dusky  figure  like 
his  own,  bent  upon  some  secret  quest,  and  watchful  like  himself  to 
avoid  discovery.  He  too,  perhaps,  had  been  dimly  seen  in  the 
same  manner — not  his  features,  for  none  in  that  depth  of  shadow  in 
which  he  crept  could  well  have  made  them  out ;  but  such  partial 
glances,  though  he  strove  to  avoid  all  observation,  he  did  not  so 
much  heed,  as  he  well  knew  that  the  thought  of  others,  seeing 
him,  without  ascertaining  who  he  was,  would  be  apt  to  assign  him 
a  like  pursuit  with  their  own  ;  possibly,  the  nocturnal  amour ; 
pursued  by  the  Yemassees  with  a  fastidious  regard  to  secrecy,  not 


196  THE    YEMASSEE. 

» 

because  of  any  moral  reserve,  but  that  such  a  pursuit  savours  of  a 
weakness  unbecoming  to  manhood. 

On  a  sudden  he  drew  back  from  the  way  he  was  pursuing,  and 
sank  under  the  cover  of  a  gigantic  oak.  A  torch  flamed  across 
the  path,  and  a  dusky  maiden  carried  it,  followed  by  a  young  war 
rior.  They  passed  directly  beside  the  tree  behind  which  Occones- 
toga  had  sought  for  shelter,  and,  at  the  first  glance,  he  knew 
Hiwassee,  the  young  maiden  who  was  to  have  filled  his  own  lodge, 
according  to  the  expectations  of  the  people  But  he  had  lost  sight 
of,  and  forgotten  her  in  the  practices  which  had  weaned  him  from 
his  brethren  and  bound  him  to  the  whites.  What  were  the  affec 
tions  now  to  him?  Yet  he  had  regarded  her  with  favour,  and 
though  he  had  never  formally  proposed  to  break  with  her  the 
sacred  wand  of  Checkamoysee,*  which  was  to  give  her  the  title  to 
his  dwelling  and  make  her  his  wife,  yet  such  had  been  the  expec 
tation  of  his  mother,  her  wish,  and  perhaps  that  of  the  damsel  her 
self.  He  remembered  this  with  a  sad  sinking  of  the  heart.  He 
remembered  what  he  had  been,  what  were  his  hopes  and  pride ; 
what  had  been  the  expectations,  in  regard  to  him,  of  his  parents 
and  his  people.  It  was  with  a  bitter  feeling  of  disappointment  and 
self-reproach,  that  he  heard  the  proposition  of  love  as  it  was  made 
to  her  by  another. 

"  It  is  a  brave  chief,  Hiwassee — a  brave  chief  that  would  have 
you. enter  his  lodge.  The  lodge  of  Echotee  is  ready  for  Hiwassee. 
Look !  this  is  the  stick  of  Checkamoysee ;  break  it,  take  it  in  thy 
hands  and  break  it,  Hiwassee,  and  Echotee  will  quench  the  torch 
which  thou  bearest  in  the  running  water.  Then  shalt  thou  be  tho 
wife  of  a  warrior,  and  the  venison  shall  always  be  full  in  thy  lodge. 
Break  the  stick  of  Checkamoysee,  Hiwassee,  and  be  the  wife  of 
Echotee." 

And  the  dusky  maiden  needed  little  wooing.  She  broke  the 
stick,  and  as  she  did  so,  seizing  the  blazing  torch  with  a  ready 
hand,  Echotee  hurried  with  it  to  a  brook  that  trickled  along  at  a 
little  distance,  and  in  the  next  instant  it  hissed  in  the  water,  and 
ail  was  darkness.  Without  regarding  what  he  was  doing,  or 

•  Checkamoysee,  the  Yemassee  Hymen. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  197 

thinking  of  his  own  risk,  Occonestoga,  in  the  absence  of  her  ac 
cepted  lover,  could  not  forbear  a  word,  something  of  reproach, 
perhaps,  in  the  ear  of  Hiwassee.  She  stood  but  a  few  paces  off, 
under  the  shadow  and  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  same  tree  which 
gave  him  shelter ;  with  the  broken  stick  still  in  her  hand  in  attes 
tation  of  her  wild  forest  nuptial.  What  he  said  was  unheard 
save  by  herself,  but  she  screamed  as  she  heard  it ;  and,  hearing  her 
lover  approach,  and  now  duly  conscious  of  his  error,  Occonestoga, 
in  the  next  moment,  had  darted  away  from  the  place  of  their  tryst, 
and  was  pursuing  his  route  with  all  the  vigour  of  a  renewed  and 
resolute  spirit.  The  sense  of  what  he  had  lost  for  ever,  seemed  to 
sting  him  into  a  sort  of  despairing  energy  which  hurried  him 
recklessly  onward. 

At  length  he  approached  the  town  of  Pocota-ligo,  but,  at  first, 
carefully  avoiding  its  main  entrance,  which  was  upon  the  river — 
particularly  as  the  throng  of  sounds  reaching  his  ears  from  that 
quarter  indicated  a  still  active  stir — he  shot  off  circuitously  into 
the  thicker  woods,  so  as  to  come  into  the  immediate  neighbourhood 
of  his  father's  dwelling.  From  a  neighbouring  thicket,  after  a 
little  while,  he  looked  down  upon  the  cabin  which  had  given  a 
birth-place  and  shelter  to  his  infancy ;  and  the  feeling  of  shame 
grew  strong  in  his  bosom  as  he  thought  upon  the  hopes  defeated 
of  his  high-souled  father,  and  of  the  affections  thrown  away  of 
the  gentle  mother,  with  whom,  however  mortified  and  fruitless, 
they  still  continued  to  flourish  for  the  outcast.  Such  thoughts, 
however,  were  not  permitted  to  trouble  him  long ;  for,  as  he  looked 
he  beheld  by  the  ruddy  blaze  of  the  pine  torch  which  the  boy 
carried  before  him,  the  person  of  his  father  emerge  from  the  lodge, 
and  take  the  well-known  pathway  leading  to  Pocota-ligo.  If  Oc 
conestoga  had  no  other  virtue,  that  of  love  for  his  mother  was,  to 
a  certain  extent,  sufficiently  redeeming.  His  previous  thoughts, 
his  natural  feeling,  prepared  him,  whatever  the  risk,  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  the  opportunity  thus  offered  him.  In  another  instant, 
and  the  half  penitent  prodigal  stood  in  the  presence  of  Matiwan. 

"  Oh,  boy — Occonestoga — thou  art  come — thou  art  come.  Thou 
art  not  yet  lost  to  Matiwan." 

And  she  threw  herself,  with  the  exclamation,  fondly,  though  but 


198  THE   YEMASSEE. 

for  a  moment,  upon  his  neck ;  the  next,  recovering  herself,  she 
spoke  in  hurried  tones,  full  of  grief  and  apprehension. 

"  Thou  shouldst  not  come  ! — fly,  boy — fly,  Occonestoga — be  a 
swift  bird,  that  the  night  has  overtaken  far  away  from  his  bush. 
There  is  danger — there  is  death — not  death — there  is  a  curse  for 
thee  from  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

"  Let  not  the  grief  stand  in  the  eye  of  Matiwan.  Occonestoga 
fears  not  death.  He  has  a  song  for  the  Manneyto  of  the  blessed 
valley ;  the  great  warriors  shall  clap  their  hands  and  cry  '  San- 
garrah-rae,  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee.'  when  they  hear.  Let  not 
the  grief  stand  in  the  eye  of  Matiwan." 

"  It  is  for  thee,  for  thee,  boy — for  thee,  Occonestoga.  The  sorrow 
of  Matiwan  is  for  thee.  Thou  hast  been  in  this  bosom,  Occones 
toga,  and  thine  eyes  opened  first,  when  the  green  was  on  the  young 
leaf  and  the  yellow  flower  was  hanging  over  the  lodge  in  the 
strength  of  the  sun." 

"  Know  I  not  the  song  of  Enoree-Mattee,  when  the  eyes  of 
Occonestoga  looked  up  ?  Said  he  not — under  the  green  lea£ 
under  the  yellow  flower,  the  brave  comes  who  shall  have  arrows 
with  wings  and  a  knife  that  has  eyes  ?  Occonestoga  is  here  !" 

"  Matiwan  was  glad.  Sanutee  lifted  thee  to  the  sun,  boy,  and 
begged  for  thee  his  befcois  from  the  good  Manneyto.  The  glad 
ness  is  gone,  Occonest.oga — gone  from  Sanutee,  gone  from  Mati 
wan, — gone  with  thee.  There  iz  no  green  on  the  leaf — my  eyes 
loot  upon  the  yel1  >w  flowers  nn  longer.  Occonestoga,  it  is  thou, — 
tbou  hast  taken  nil  this  ligV,  from  the  eye  of  Matiwan.  The 
gladness  and  the  light  are  go"e." 

"  Matiwan  tells  no  lie — tlm  dog  is  Occonestoga." 

Thus  he  began,  sinking  bftck  into  the  humiliating  consciousness 
of  his  shame  and  degradation.  But  the  gentle  parent,  tender  even 
in  the  utterance  of  the  tr.'th,  fearing  she  had  gone  too  far,  hastily 
and  almost  indignantly  interrupted  him  in  the  melancholy  self- 
condemnation  he  was  uttering. 

"  No,  no — Occonestoga  is  no  dog.  He  is  a  brave — he  is  the 
son  of  Sanutee,  the  well-beloved  of  the  Yemassee.  Occonestoga 
has  shut  his  eyes  and  gone  upon  the  track  of  a  foolish  dream,  but 
he  will  wake  with  the  sun, — and  Matiwan  will  see  the  green  leaf 


THE    YEMASSEE. 

and  tlu  yellow  flower  still  hanging  over  the  lodge  of  Sanutee ;" 
and  as  she  spoke  she  threw  her  arms  about  him  affectionately, 
while  the  tears  came  to  the  relief  of  her  heart  and  flowed  freely 
down  her  cheeks.  The  youth  gently  but  coldly  disengaged  her 
clasp,  and  proceeded  to  seat  himself  upon  the  broad  skin  lying 
upon  the  floor  of  the  cabin  ;  when,  aroused  by  the  movement,  and 
with  a  return  of  all  her  old  apprehensions,  she  thrust  him  from  it 
with  an  air  of  anxiety,  if  not  of  horror,  and  shutting  her  eyes  upon 
the  wondering  and  somewhat  indignant  glance  with  which  he  now 
surveyed  her,  she  exclaimed  passionately — 

"Go — fly — wherefore  art  thou  here — here  in  the  lodge  of 
Sanutee — thou,  the  accursed — the — "  and  the  words  stuck  in  her 
throat,  and,  unarticulated,  came  forth  chokingly. 

"  Is  Matiwan  mad — has  the  fever-pain  gone  into  her  temples  ?" 
he  asked  in  Astonishment. 

"  No,  no,  no — not  mad,  Occonestoga.  But  thou  art  cast  out 
from  the  Yemussee.  He  does  not  know  thee — the  young  warriors 
know  thee  not — the  chiefs  know  thee  not — Manneyto  denies  thee. 
They  have  said — thou  art  a  Yemassee  no  longer.  They  have  cast 
thee  out." 

"  The  Yemassee  is  great,  but  he  cannot  deny  Occonestoga. 
Thou  art  mad,  Matiwan.  Look,  woman,  here  is  the  broad  arrow 
of  Yemassee  upon  the  shoulder  of  a  chief." 

"It  is  gone — it  is  gone  from  thee,  Occonestoga.  They  have 
sworn  by  Opitchi-Manneyto,  that  Malatchie,  the  Clublifter,  shall 
take  it  from  thy  shoulder.*' 

The  youth  shrunk  back,  and  his  eyes  started  in  horror,  while 
his  limbs  trembled  with  a  sentiment  of  fear  not  often  felt  by  an 
Indian  warrior.  In  another  instant,  however,  he  recovered  from 
the  stupor  if  not  from  the  dread,  which  her  intelligence  occa 
sioned. 

"  Ha,  Matiwan,  thou  hast  no  fork  in  thy  tongue.  Thou  speakest 
not  to  me  with  the  voice  of  the  Coonee-latee." 

"  Opitchi-Manneyto ! — he  hears  the  voice  of  Matiwan.  The 
Yemassee  has  doomed  thee." 

"They  dare  not — they  will  not.  I  will  go  with  them  upon  the 
war-path  against  the  Santee  and  the  Seratee.  I  will  take  up  the 


200  THE    YEMASSEE. 

hatchet  against  the  English.     I  will  lead  the  young  warriors  to 
battle.     They  shalf  know  Occonestoga  for  a  chief." 

"Thou  canst  not,  boy.  They  do  not  trust  thee — they  have 
doomed  thee  with  the  chiefs  who  sold  the  land  to  the  English. 
Has  not  Malatchie  cut  with  the  knife,  and  burnt  away  with  fire 
from  their  shoulders,  the  sacred  and  broad  arrow  of  Yemassee,  so 
that  we  know  them  no  more  ? — Their  fathers  and  their  sons  know 
them  no  more — the  mothers  that  bore  them  know  them  no  more 
— the  other  nations  know  them  no  more — they  cannot  enter  the 
blessed  valley  of  Manneyto,  for  Manneyto  knows  them  not  when 
he  looks  for  the  broad  arrow  of  Yemassee,  and  finds  it  not  upon 
their  shoulders." 

"  Woman  !  thou  liest ! — thou  art  hissing  lies  in  my  ears,  like 
the  green  snake,  with  a  forked  tongue.  The  Yemassee  has  not 
done  this  thing  as  thou  say'st." 

The  voice  of  the  woman  sank  into  a  low  and  husky  murmur, 
and  the  always  melancholy  tones  of  the  language  of  the  red  man, 
grew  doubly  so  in  her  utterance,  as  she  replied  in  a  stern  rebuke, 
Chough  her  attitude  and  manner  were  now  entirely  passionless : — 

"  When  has  Matiwan  lied  to  Occonestoga  ?  Occonestoga  is  a 
dog  when  he  speaks  of  Matiwan  as  the  forked  tongue." 

"  He  is  a  dog  if  thou  hast  not  lied,  Matiwan.  Say  that  thou 
hast  lied — that  thou  hast  said  a  foolish  thing  to  Occonestoga.  Say, 
Matiwan,  and  the  young  arrow  will  be  in  thy  hand  even  as  the 
long  shoots  of  the  tree  that  weeps.  Thou  shalt  make  him  what 
thou  wilt." 

/"       With  an  expression  the  most  humbled  and  imploring,  and  some 
thing  more  of  warmth  than  is  usually  shown  by  the  Indian  war- 
l    rior,  the  young  chief  took  the  hand  of  his  mother,  while  uttering" 
\   an  appeal,  virtually  apologizing  for   the  harsh  language  he  had 
\  previously  made  use  of.      With  the  pause  of   an  instant,  and  a 
\  passionate  melancholy,  almost  amounting  to  the  vehemence  of 
\  despair,  she  replied  : — 

"  Matiwan  does  not  lie.  The  Yemassee  has  said  the  doom, 
which  Enoree-Mattee,  the  prophet,  brought  from  Opitchi-Manneyto. 
Has  not  Malatchie  cut  from  the  shoulders  of  the  chiefs  and  burnt 
away  with  fire  the  broad  arrow,  so  that  never  more  may  they  t>e 


THE    YEMASSEE.  20i 

known  by  the  Yemassee — never  more  by  the  Manneytc !  The 
doom  is  for  thee,  Occonestoga.  It  is  true.  There  is  no  fork  in 
the  tongue  of  Matiwan.  Fly,  boy — fly,  Occonestoga.  It  is  thy 
mother,  it  is  Matiwan  that  prays  thee  to  fly.  Matiwan  would 
not  lose  thee,  Occonestoga,  from  the  happy  valley.  Be  the  swift 
arrow  on  the  path  of  flight — let  them  not  see  thee — let  them 
not  give  thee  to  Malatchie." 

Thus,  passionately  imploring  him,  the  mother  urged  upon  him 
the  necessity  of  flight.  But,  for  a  few  minutes,  as  if  stunned  by 
the  intelligence  which  he'  could  not  now  disbelieve,  the  young 
warrior  stood  in  silence,  with  down-bending  head,  the  very  per 
sonification  of  despair.  Then,  quickly  and  fully  recovering,  with 
a  kindling  eye,  and  a  manner  well  corresponding  with  his  language, 
he  started  forward,  erectly,  in  his  fullest  height,  and  with  the  action 
of  a  strong  mood,  for  a  moment  assumed  the  attitude  of  that  true 
dignity,  from  which,  in  his  latter  days  and  habits,  he  had  but  too 
much  and  too  often  departed. 

"  Ha  !  Is  Occonestoga  an. arrow  that  is  broken  ?  Is  he  the  old 
tree  across  the  swamp,  that  the  dog's  foot  runs  over  ?  Has  he  no 
strength — has  the  blood  gone  out  of  his  heart  ?  Has  he  no  knife 
— where  are  the  arrow  and  the  tomahawk  ?  They  are  here — I 
have  them.  The  Yemassee  shall  not  hold  me  down  when  I  sleep. 
Occonestoga  sleeps  not.  He  will  do  battle  against  the  Yemassee. 
His  knife  shall  strike  at  the  breast  of  Sanutee." 

"  Thou  hast  said  a  folly,  boy — Occonestoga,  wouldst  thou  strike 
at  thy  father  ?  "  said'  the  mother,  sternly. 

"  His  hatchet  shook  over  the  head  of  Occonestoga  in  the  lodge 
of  council.  He  is  the  enemy  of  Occonestoga— a  bad  thorn  in  the 
path,  ready  for  the  foot  that  flies.  I  will  slay  him  like  a  dog.  He 
shall  hear  the  scalp-song  of  Occonestoga — I  will  sing  it  in  his 
ears,  woman,  like  a  bird  that  comes  with  the  storm,  while  I  send 
the  long  knife  into  his  heart;"  and  fiercely,  as  he  concluded  this 
speech,  he  chanted  a  passage  of  the  famous  scalp-song  of  th« 
Yemassee — 

"  I  go  with  the  long  knife, 
On  the  path  of  my  enemy — 
In  the  cover  of  the  brake, 

9* 


THE    YEMASSEE. 

With  the  tooth  of  the  war-rattle, 
I  strike  the  death  into  his  heel — 
Sangarrah-me,  Sangarrah-me. 
I  hear  him  groan,  I  see  him  gasp, 
I  tear  his  throat,  I  drink  his  blood, 
He  sings  the  song  of  his  dying, 
To  the  glory  of  Occonestoga. " 

"  Ha !  tbou  nearest,  Matiwan — this  will  I  sing  for  Sanutee  when 
my  knee  is  upon  his  breast,  when  my  knife  is  thick  in  his  heart, 
wnen  I  tear  the  thin  scalp  from  his  forehead." 

Thus,  in  a  deep,  fiercely  impressive,  but  low  tone,  Occonestoga 
poured  forth  in  his  mother's  ears  the  fulness  of  his  paroxysm, — 
in  his  madness  attributing,  and  with  correctness,  the  doom  which 
had  been  pronounced  against  him  as  coming  from  his  father.  In 
that  fierce  and  bitter  moment  he  forgot  all  the  ties  of  kindred,  and 
his  look  was  that  of  the  furious  and  fearful  savage,  already  imbru 
ing  his  hands  in  parental  blood.  The  horror  of  Matiwan,  beyond 
expression,  could  not,  however,  be  kept  from  utterance : — 

"  Thou  hast  drunk  madness,  boy,  from  the  cup  of  Opitchi-Man- 
neyto.  The  devil  of  the  white  man's  prophet  has  gone  into  thy 
heart.  But  thou  art  the  child  of  Matiwan,  and,  though  thou  art 
in  a  foolish  path,  it  is  thy  mother  that  would  save  thee.  Go — fly, 
Occonestoga — keep  on  thy  shoulder  the  broad  arrow  of  Yemassee, 
so  that  thy  mother  may  not  lose  thee  from  the  blessed  valley  of 
Manneyto." 

Before  the  young  warrior,  somewhat  softened  by  this  speech, 
coul<^  find  words  to  reply  to  it,  his  acute  sense — acute  enough  at 
all  times  to  savour  of  a  supernatural  faculty — detected  an  ap 
proaching  sound  ;  and,  through  an  opening  of  the  logs  in  the 
dwelling,  the  Hare  of  a  torch  was  seen  approaching.  Matiwan, 
much  more  apprehensive,  with  her  anxieties  now  turned  in  a  new 
direction,  went  quickly  to  the  entrance,  and  returning  instantly 
with  great  alarm,  announced  the  approach  of  Sanutee. 

"  He  comes  to  the  hatchet  of  Occonestoga,"  cried  the  youth 
fiercely,  his  recent  rage  re-awakening. 

"  Wouldst  thou  slay  Matiwan?"  was  the  reply, — aud  the  look, 
the  tone,  the  woHs  were  sufficient.  The  fierce  spirit  was  quelled, 


THE    YEMASSEK.  203 

and  the  youth  suffered  himself  to  follow  quietly  as  she  directed. 
She  led  him  to  a  remote  corner  of  the  lodge,  which,  piled  up  with 
skins,  furnished  a  fair  chance  and  promise  of  security.  With 
several  of  these,  as  he  stretched  himself  at  his  length,  she  con 
trived  to  cover  him  in  such  a  manner  as  effectually  to  conceal  him 
from  the  casual  observer.  Having  so  done,  she  strove  to  resume 
her  composure  in  time  for  the  reception  of  the  old  chief,  whose 
torch  now  blasted  at  the  entrance. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

•»  Tk«y  bind  him,  will  they  slay  him '     That  old  aua, 
Hii  father,  will  he  look  upon  and  see 
The  danger  of  his  child,  nor  lift  hig  voice, 
Nor  lend  his  arm  to  save  him  ?" 

WITH  a  mind  deeply  taken  up  with  the  concerns  of  state,  Sanu 
tee  threw  himself  upon  the  bearskin  which  formed  a  sort  of  carpet 
in  the  middle  of  the  lodge,  and  failed  utterly  to  remark  the  dis 
composure  of  Matiwan,  which,  otherwise,  to  the  keen  glance  of  the 
Indian,  would  not  have  remained  very  long  concealed.  She  took 
her  seat  at  his  head,  and  croned  low  and  musingly  some  familiar 
chant  of  forest  song,  unobtrusively,  yet  meant  to  soothe  his  ear. 
He  heard — for  this  had  long  been  a  practice  with  her  and  a  do 
mestic  indulgence  with  him — he  heard,  but  did  not  seem  to  listen. 
His  mind  was  away —  busied  in  the  events  of  the  wild  storm  it  had 
invoked,  and  the  period  of  which  was  rapidly  approaching.  But 
there  were  other  matters  less  important,  that  called  for  present 
attention ;  and,  turning  at  length  to  his  wife,  and  pointing  at  the 
same  time  to  the  pile  of  skins  that  lay  confusedly  huddled  up  over 
the  crouching  form  of  Occonestoga,  he  quietly  remarked  upon 
their  loose  and  disordered  appearance.  The  well-bred  housewife 
of  a  city  might  have  discovered  something  of  rebuke  to  her  do 
mestic  management  in  what  he  said  on  this  subject ;  but  the  mind 
of  Matiwan  lost  all  sight  of  the  reproach,  in  the  apprehensions 
which  such  a  reference  had  excited.  He  saw  not  her  disorder, 
however,  but  proceeded  to  enumerate  to  himself  their  numbers,  • 
sorts,  and  qualities,  with  a  simple  air. of  business  ;  until,  suddenly 
Jabouring,  as  it  appeared,  under  some  deficiency  of  memory,  he 
instructed  her  to  go  and  ascertain  the  number  of  bearskins  in  the 
collection. 

44  The  Spanish  trader  will  buy  from  Sanutee  with  the  next  sun. 
Go,  Matiwan." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  205 


To  hear  was  to  obey ;  and  half  dead  with  fear,  yet  rejoiced  that  \ 
he  had  not  gone  himself,  she  proceeded  to  tumble  about  the  skins,  I 
with  ready  compliance,  and  an  air  of  industry,  the  most  praise-  | 
worthy  in  an  Indian  woman.  Her  labour  was  lengthened,  so 
Sanutee  seemed  to  think,  somewhat  beyond  the  time  necessary  to 
enumerate  a  lot  of  skins  not  exceeding  fifteen  or  twenty  in  number, 
and  with  some  little  sternness  at  last  he  demanded  of  her  the  cause 
of  the  delay.  Apprehensive  that  he  would  yet  rise,  and  seek  for 
himself  a  solution  of  the  difficulty,  she  determined,  as  she  had  not 
yet  ascertained,  to  guess  at  the  fact,  and  immediately  replied  in 
a  representation  which  did  not  at  all  accord  with  the  calculation  of 
the  chief 's  own  memory  on  the  subject.  The  impatience  of  Occo- 
nestoga,  in  the  meantime,  was  not  less  than  that  of  Sanutee.  He 
worried  his  mother  not  a  little  in  his  restlessness  while  she  moved 
about  him ;  and  once,  as  she  bent  over  him,  removing  this,  and 
replacing  that,  he  seized  upon  her  hand,  and  would  have  spoken, 
but  that  so  dangerous  an  experiment  she  would  not  permit.  But 
she  saw  by  his  glance,  and  the  settled  firmness  with  which  he 
grasped  his  hatchet,  that  his  thought  was  that  of  defiance  to  his 
father,  and  a  desire  to  throw  aside  the  restraining  cover  of  the  skins, 
and  assert  his  manhood.  She  drew  away  from  him  rapidly,  with  a 
finger  uplifted  as  if  in  entreaty,  while  with  one  hand  she  threw  over 
him  a  huge  bearskin,  which  nearly  suffocated  him,  and  which  he 
immediately,  in  part,  threw  aside.  Sanutee,  in  the  meantime, 
seemed  very  imperfectly  satisfied  with  the  representation  which  she 
had  made,  and  manifesting  some  doubt  as  to  the  correctness  of  her 
estimate,  he  was  about  to  rise  and  look  for  himself  into  the  matter. 
But,  in  some  trepidation,  the  wary  Matiwan  prevented  him. 

"  Wherefore  should  the  chief  toil  at  the  task  of  a  woman  ? 
Battle  for  the  chief — wisdom  in  council  for  the  chief;  and  the 
seat  under  the  big  tree,  at  the  head  of  the  lodge,  when  the  great 
chiefs  come  to  eat  meat  from  his  hands.  Sit,  well-beloved — 
wherefore  should  not  Matiwan  look  for  thee  ?  The  toil  of  the 
lodge  is  for  Matiwan." 

"Sanutee  will  look,  Matiwan — the  bearskin  is  heavy  on  thy 
hands,"  was  the  considerate  reply. 

tt  Go  not,  look  not — "  impatiently,  rather  too  impatiently  earnest. 


206  THE    YEMASSEE. 

was  the  response  of  the  woman ;  sufficiently  so  to  awaken  sur 
prise,  if  not  suspicion,  in  the  mind  of  the  old  chief.  She  saw  her 
error  in  the  next  instant,  and  proceeding  to  correct  it,  without,  at 
the  same  time  yielding  the  point,  she  said : 

"  Thou  art  weary,  chief — all  day  long  thou  hast  been  upon  the 
track  of  toil,  and  thy  feet  need  rest.  Rest  thee.  Matiwan  is  here 
— why  shouldst  thou  not  repose  ?  Will  she  not  look  to  the 
skins  ?  She  goes." 

"  Thou  art  good,  Matiwan,  but  Sanutee  will  look  with  the  eye 
that  is  true.  He  is  not  weary  as  thou  say'st.  Cha ! " — he 
exclaimed,  as  she  still  endeavoured  to  prevent  him — "  Cha  ! — Cha !" 
impatiently  putting  her  aside  with  the  exclamation,  and  turning 
to  the  very  spot  of  Occonestoga's  concealment.  Hopeless  of 
escape,  Matiwan  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  the  beatings  of 
her  heart  grew  more  frequent  and  painful.  Already  his  hands 
were  upon  the  skins, — already  had  Occonestoga  determined  upon 
throwing  aside  his  covering  and  grappling  with  his  fate  like  i 
>varrior,  when  a  sudden  yell  of  many  voices,  and  the  exciting 
blood-cry  of  Yemassee  battle,  "  Sangarvah-me,  Sangarrah-me,"- 
rang  through  the  little  apartment.  Lights  flared  all  around  the 
lodge,  and  a  confused,  wild,  approaching  clamour,  as  of  many 
voices,  from  without,  drew  the  attention  of  all  within,  and  diverted 
Sanutee  from  a  further  search  at  that  time,  which  must  have 
resulted  in  such  a  denouement  as  would  have  tried  severely,  if  not 
fatally,  the  several  parties.  But  the  respite  afforded  to  Matiwan 
was  very  brief.  The  cry  from  without  was  of  startling  significance 
to  the  woman  and  her  son. 

"  Sangarrah-me — he  is  here — the  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto  is 
here." 

And  a  general  howl,  with  a  direct  call  for  Sanutee,  brought  the 
old  chief  to  the  door  of  the  lodge.  It  was  surrounded  by  a  crowd 
of  the  red  men,  in  a  state  of  intense  excitement.  Before  the  old 
chief  could  ask  the  purpose  of  their  visit,  and  the  cause  of  their 
clamour,  he  had  heard  it  from  a  score  of  voices.  They  came  to 
denounce  the  fugitive,  they  had  tracked  him  to  the  lodge.  The 
indiscretion  of  Occonestoga  when  speaking  in  the  ear  of  the 
Ipdiau  maiden,  Jiiwassee,  had  brought  about  its  legitimate  con- 


THE   YEMASSEE.  207 

sequences.  In  her  surprise,  and  accounting  for  the  shriek  she  gave, 
she  had  revealed  the  circumstance  to  her  lover,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  had  again  related  it  to  another.  The  story  flew,  tha 
crowd  increased,  and,  gathering  excitement  from  numbers,  they 
rushed  forward  to  the  lodge  of  Matiwan,  where,  from  his  known 
love  to  his  mother,  they  thought  it  probable  he  would  be  found, 
to  claim  the  doomed  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto.  The  old  chief 
heard  them  with  a  stern  and  motionless  calm  of  countenance; 
then,  without  an  instant  of  reflection,  throwing  open  the  door  of 
the  lodge,  he  bade  them  enter  upon  the  search  for  their  victim. 

The  clamour  and  its  occasion,  in  the  meantime,  had  been 
made  sufficiently  and  fearfully  intelligible  to  those  within.  Mati 
wan  sank  down  hopelessly  in  a  corner  of  the  apartment,  fvLila  Oc 
conestoga,  with  a  rapid  recovery  of  all  his  energies,  throwing 
aside  his  covering  of  skins,  and  rising  from  his  place  of  con 
cealment,  stood  up  once  more,  an  upright  and  fearless  Indian  war 
rior.  He  freed  the  knife  from  its  sheath,  tightened  the  belt  about 
his  waist,  grasped  the  tomahawk  in  his  right  hand,  and  placing 
himself  conspicuously  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment,  prepared 
manfully  for  the  worst. 

Such  was  his  position,  when,  leading  the  way  for  the  pursuers 
of  the  fugitive,  Sanutee  re-entered  the  cabin.  A  moment's  glance 
sufficed  to  show  him  the  truth  of  the  statement  made  him,  and  at 
the  same  time  accounted  for  the  uneasiness  of  Matiwan,  and  her 
desire  to  prevent  his  examination  of  the  skins.  He  darted  a  severe 
look  upon  her  where  she  lay  in  the  corner,  and  as  the  glance  met 
her  own,  she  crept  silently  towards  him  and  would  have  clasped 
his  knees  ;  but  the  ire  of  Sanutee  was  too  deeply  awakened,  and, 
regarding  his  profligate  son,  not  merely  in  that  character,  but  as 
the  chief  enemy  and  betrayer  of  his  country  to  the  English,  he 
threw  her  aside,  then  approached  and  stretched  forth  his  arm  as  if 
to  secure  him.  But  Occonestoga  stood  on  the  defensive  ;  and  with 
a  skill  and  power,  which,  at  one  time,  had  procured  for  him  a  high 
reputation  for  warrior-like  conduct,  in  a  field  where  the  competi 
tors  were  numerous,  he  hurled  the  old  chief  back  upon  the  crowd 
that  followed  him.  Doubly  incensed  with  the  resistance  thus 
offered,  Saautee  re-advanced  with  a  degree  of  anger  which  excluded 


208  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  cautious  consideration  of  the  true  warrior, — and-  as  the 
approach  was  narrow,  he  re-advanced  unsupported.  The  recollec 
tion  of  the  terrible  doom  impending  over  his  head — the  knowledge 
of  Sanutee's  own  share  in  its  decree — the  stern  denunciations  of 
his  father  in  his  own  ears, — the  fierce  feeling  of  degraded  prida 
consequent  upon  his  recent  and  present  mode  of  life,  and  the 
desperate  -mood  induced  by  his  complete  isolation  from  all  the 
sympathies  of  his  people,  evinced  by  their  vindictive  pursuit  of 
him — all  conspired  to  make  him  the  reckless  wretch  who  would 
rather  seek  than  shrink  from  the  contemplated  parricide.  His 
determination  was  evident  in  the  glance  of  his  eye ;  and  while  he 
threw  back  the  tomahawk,  so  that  the  sharp  pick  on  the  opposite 
end  rested  upon  his  right  shoulder,  and  its  edge  lay  alongside  his 
cheek,  he  muttered  between  his  firmly  set  teeth,  fragments  of  the 
fearful  scalp-song  which  he  had  sung  in  his  mother's  ear  before. 

"  Sangarrah-me — Saiigarrah-me, 
I  hear  him  groan,  I  see  him  gasp, 
I  tear  his  throat,  I  drink  his  blood — 
Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me." 

But  the  fierce  old  chief,  undiscouraged,  roused  by  the  insult  he 
had  received  by  the  defiance  of  his  own  son,  sprang  again  towards 
him.  Even  while  he  sang  the  bloody  anthem  of  the  Yemassee, 
the  fugitive,  with  desperate  strength  and  feeling  grappled  the 
father  by  his  throat,  crying  aloud  to  him,  as  he  shook  the  hatchet 
in  his  eyes — 

"I  hear  thee  groan — I  see  thee  gasp — I  tear  thy  throat — 1  drink 
thy  blood  ;  for  I  know  thee  as  mine  enemy.  Thou  art  not  Sauutee 
— thou  art  not  the  father  of  Occonestoga — but  a  black  dog,  sent  on 
his  path  to  tear.  Die,  thou  dog — thou  black  dog — die — thus  I 
slay  thee — thus  I  slay  thee,  thou  enemy  of  Occonestoga." 

And,  handling  the  old  man  with  a  strength  beyond  his  power 
to  contend  with,  he  aimed  the  deadly  stroke  directly  at  the  eyes 
of  his  father.  But  the  song  and  the  speech  had  aroused  the  yet 
conscious  but  suffering  Matiwan,  and  starting  up  from  the  ground 
where  she  had  been  lying,  almost  between  the  feet  of  the  comba 
tanU,  with  uplifted  hands  she  interposed,  just  as  the  fell  direction 


THE    YEMASSEE.  20S 

had  been  given  to  the  weapon  of  her  son.  The  piercing  shriek 
of  that  fondly  cherishing  mother  went  to  the  very  bones  of  the 
young  warrior.  Her  interposition  had  the  effect  of  a  spell  upon 
him,  particularly  as,  at  the  moment — :so  timely  for  Sauntee  had 
been  her  interposition — he  who  gave  the  blow  could  with  diffi 
culty  arrest  the  impulse  with  which  it  had  been  given,  and  which 
must  have  made  it  a  blow  fatal  to  her.  The  narrow  escape  which 
he  had  made,  sent  through  the  youth  an  unnerving  chill  and 
shudder.  The  deadly  instrument  fell  from  his  hand,  and  now 
rushing  upon  him,  the  crowd  drew  him  to  the  ground,  and 
taking  from  him  every  other  weapon,  pinioned  his  arms  closely 
behind  him.  He  turned  away  .with  something  of  horror  in  his 
'  countenance  as  he  met  the  second  gaze  of  his  father,  and  his  eyes 
rested  with  a  painful  solicitude  upon  the  wo-begone  visage  of  Mati- 
wan,  who  had,  after  her  late  effort,  again  sunk  down  at  the  feet  of 
Sanutee.  He  looked  fondly,  but  sadly  upon  her,  and,  with  a 
single  sentence  addressed  to  her,  he  offered  no  obstacle  while  his 
captors  led  him.  away. 

"  Matiwan — "  said  he, — "  thou  hast  bound  Occonestoga  for  his 
enemies.  Thou  hast  given  him  up  to  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

The  woman  heard  no  more,  but,  as  they  bore  him  off,  she  sank 
down  in  momentary  insensibility  upon  the  spot  where  she  had  been 
crouching  through  the  greater  part  of  the  previous  scene.  Sanu 
tee,  meanwhile,  with  much  of  the  character  of  ancient  Roman 
patriotism,  went  forth  with  the  rest,  on  the  way  to  the  council  ;  one 
of  the  judges — indeed  the  chief  arbiter  upon  the  destinies  of  his 
son.  There  was  no  delay  among  the  red  men,  in  the  work  of  justice. 
The  midnight  was  not  less  sacred  than  the  sunlight,  when  the 
victim  was  ready  for  the  executioner. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

•  The  pain  of  death  is  nothing.     To  the  ehiet, 

The  forest  warrior,  it  is  good  to  die — 
To  die  as  he  has  lived,  battling  and  hoarse, 
Shouting  a  song  of  triumph.     But  to  live 
Under  such  doom  as  this,  were  far  beyond 
Even  his  stoic,  cold  philosophy." 

IT  was  a  gloomy  amphitheatre  in  the  deep  forests  to  which  the 
assembled  multitude  bore  the  unfortunate  Occonestoga.  The  whole 
scene  was  unique  in  that  solemn  grandeur,  that  sombre  hue,  that 
deep  spiritual  repose,  in  which  the  human  imagination  delights  to 
invest  the  region  which  has  been  rendered  remarkable  for  the  deed 
of  punishment  or  crime.  A  small  swamp  or  morass  hung  upon 
one  side  of  the  wood,  from  the  rank  bosom  of  which,  in  number 
less  millions,  the  flickering  fire-fly  perpetually  darted  upwards, 
giving  a  brilliance  and  animation  to  the  spot,  which,  at  that 
moment,  no  assemblage  of  light  or  life  could  possibly  enliven. 
The  ancient  oak,  a  bearded  Druid,  was  there  to  contribute  to  the 
due  solemnity  of  all  associations — the  green  but  gloomy  cedar, 
the  ghostly  cypress,  and  here  and  there  the  overgrown  pine, — all 
rose  up  in  their  primitive  strength,  and  with  an  undergrowth 
around  them  of  shrub  and  flower,  that  scarcely,  at  any  time,  in 
that  sheltered  and  congenial  habitation,  had  found  it  necessary  to 
shrink  from  winter.  In  the  centre  of  the  area  thus  invested,  rose 
a  high  and  venerable  mound,  the  tumulus  of  many  preceding  ages, 
from  the  washed  sides  of  which  might  now  and  then  be  seen  pro 
truding  the  bleached  bones  of  some  ancient  warrior  or  sage.  A 
circle  of  trees,  at  a  little  distance,  hedged  it  in, — made  secure  and 
sacred  by  the  performance  there  of  many  of  their  religious  rites 
and  offices, — themselves,  as  they  bore  the  broad  arrow  of  the 
Yeraassee,  being  free  from  all  danger  of  overthrow  or  desecration 
by  Indian  hands. 

Amid  the  confused  cries  of  the  multitude,  thev  bore  the  captive 


THE    YEMASSEE,  211 

to  the  foot  of  the  tumulus,  and  bound  him  backward,  half  reclining 
upon  a  tree.  An  hundred  warriors  stood  around,  armed  according 
to  the  manner  of  the  nation,  each  with  a  tomahawk,  and  knife, 
and  bow.  They  stood  up  as  for  battle,  but  spectators  simply,  and 
took  no  part  in  a  proceeding  which  belonged  entirely  to  the 
priesthood.  In  a  wider  and  denser  circle,  gathered  hundreds  more 
— not  the  warriors,  but  the  people — the  old,  the  young,  the  women, 
and  the  children,  all  fiercely  excited  and  anxious  to  see  a  ceremony, 
so  awfully  exciting  to  an  Indian  imagination ;  involving,  as  it  did, 
not  only  the  perpetual  loss  of  human  caste  and  national  considera 
tion,  but  the  eternal  doom,  the  degradation,  the  denial  of,  and  the 
exile  from,  their  simple  forest  heaven.  Interspersed  with  this  latter 
crowd,  seemingly  at  regular  intervals,  and  with  an  allotted  labour 
assigned  them,  came  a  number  of  old  women,  not  unmeet  repre 
sentatives,  individually,  for  either  of  the  weird  sisters  of  the  Scottish 
Th*ne, 

"  So  withered  and  so  wild  in  their  attire — " 


and,  regarding  their  cries  and  actions,  of  whom  we  may  safely 
affirm,  that  they  looked  like  any  thing  but  inhabitants  of  earth ! 
In  their  hands  they  bore,  each  of  them,  a  flaming  torch,  of  the 
rich  and  gummy  pine ;  and  these  they  waved  over  the  heads  of 
the  multitude  in  a  thousand  various,  evolutions,  accompanying  each 
movement  with  a  fearful  cry,  which,  at  regular  periods,  was  cho- 
russed  by  the  assembled  mass.  A  bugle,  a  native  instrument  of 
sound,  five  feet  or  more  in  length,  hollowed  out  from  the  com 
monest  timber — the  cracks  and  breaks  of  which  were  carefully 
sealed  up  with  the  resinous  gum  oozing  from  their  burning  torches, 
and  which,  to  this  day,  borrowed  from  the  natives,  our  negroes 
employ  on  the  southern  waters  with  a  peculiar  compass  and  variety 
of  note — was  carried  by  one  of  the  party,  and  gave  forth  at  in 
tervals,  timed  with  much  regularity,  a  long,  protracted,  single  blast, 
.adding  greatly  to  the  wild  and  picturesque  character  of  the  spec 
tacle.  At  the  articulation  of  these  sounds,  the  circles  continued  to 
contract,  though  slowly  ;  until,  at  length,  but  a  brief  space  laj 
between  the  armed  warriors,  the  crowd,  and  the  unhappy  victim. 


212  THE    TEMASSEE. 

The  night  grew  dark  of  a  sudden,  and  the  sky  was  obscured  by 
one  of  the  brief  tempests  that  usually  usher  in  the  summer,  and 
mark  the  transition,  in  the  south,  of  one  season  to  another.  A 
wild  gust  rushed  along  the  wood.  The  leaves  were  whirled  over 
the  heads  of  the  assemblage,  and  the  trees  bent  downwards,  until 
they  cracked  and  groaned  again  beneath  the  wind.  A  feeling  of 
natural  superstition  crossed  the  minds  of  the  multitude,  as  the 
hurricane,  though  common  enough  in  that  region,  passed  hur 
riedly  along ;  and  a  spontaneous  and  universal  voice  of  chaunted 
prayer  rose  from  the  multitude,  in  their  own  wild  and  emphatic 
language,  to  the  evil  deity  whose  presence  they  beheld  in  its 
progress : 

"Thy  wing,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
It  o'erthrows  the  tall  trees — 
Thy  breath,  Opitclii-Manneyto, 
Makes  the  waters  tremble — 
Thou  art  in  the  hurricane, 
When  the  wigwam  tumbles — 
Thou  art  in  the  arrow-fire, 
When  the  pine  is  shiver'd — 
But  upon  the  Yemassee, 
Be  thy  coming  gentle — 
Are  they  not  thy  well-beloved  I 
Bring  they  not  a  slave  to  thee  ? 
Look!  the  slave  is  bound  for  thee, 
Tis  the  Yemassee  that  brings  him. 
Pass,  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Pass,  black  spirit,  pass  from  us — 
Be  thy  passage  gentle." 

And,  as  the  uncouth  strain  rose  at  the  conclusion  into  a  diapason 
of  unanimous  and  contending  voices,  of  old  and  young,  male  and 
female,  the  brief  summer  tempest  had  gone  by.  A  shout  of  self- 
gratulation,  joined  with  warm  acknowledgments,  testified  the 
popular  sense  and  confidence  in  that  especial  Providence,  which 
even  the  most  barbarous  nations  claim  as  for  eve.:  working  in  their 
behalf. 

At  this  moment,  surroundel  by  the  chiefs,  and  preceded  by  the 
eat  prophet  or  high-priest,   Euoree-Mattee,  came  Sanutee,  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  213 

well-beloved  of  the  Yemassee,  to  preside  over  the  destinies  of  his 
son.  There  was  a  due  and  becoming  solemnity,  but  nothing  cf  the 
peculiar  feelings  of  the  father,  visible  in  his  countenance.  Blocks 
of  wood  were  placed  around  as  seats  for  the  chiefs,  but  Sanutee 
and  the  prophet  threw  themselves,  with  more  of  imposing  venera 
tion  in  the  proceeding,  upon  the  edge  of  the  tumulus,  just  where 
an  overcharged  spot,  bulging  out  with  the  crowding  bones  of  its 
inmates,  had  formed  an  elevation  answering  the  purpose  of  couch 
or  seat.  They  sat,  directly  looking  upon  the  prisoner,  who  re 
clined,  bound  securely  upon  his  back  to  a  decapitated  tree,  at  a 
little  distance  before  them.  A  signal  having  been  given,  the 
women  ceased  their  clamours,  and  approaching  him,  they  waved 
their  torches  so  closely  above  his  head  as  to  make  all  his  features 
distinctly  visible  to  the  now  watchful  and  silent  multitude.  He 
bore  the  examination  with  stern,  unmoved  features,  which  the 
sculptor  in  brass  or  marble  might  have  been  glad  to  transfer  to  his 
statue  in  the  block.  While  the  torches  waved,  one  of  the  women 
now  cried  aloud,  in  a  barbarous  chant,  above  him : — 

"  IB  not  this  a  Yemassee  I 
Wherefore  is  he  bound  thus — 
Wherefore,  with  the  broad  arrow/ 
On  his  right  arm  growing, 
Wherefore  is  he  bound  thus — 
Is  not  this  a  Yemassee  ? 

A  second  woman  now  approached  him,  waving  her  torch  in  like 
manner,  seeming  closely  to  inspect  his  features,  and  actually  pass 
ing  her  fingers  over  the  emblem  upon  his  shoulder,  as  if  to 
ascertain  more  certainly  the  truth  of  the  image.  Having  done 
this,  she  turned  about  to  the  crowd,  and  in  the  same  barbarous 
sort  of  strain  with  the  preceding,  replied  as  follows 

"  It  is  not  the  Yemassee, 
But  a  dog  that  runs  away. 
From  his  right  arm  take  the  a/row, 
He  is  not  the  Yemassee." 

As  these  words  were  uttered,  the  crowd  of  women  and  children 
around  cried  out  for  the  execution  of  the  judgment  thus  given, 


2H  Tin-:  YKMASSEE. 

and  once  again  llamed  the  torches  wildly,  and  the  shoutings  were 
general  among  the  multitude.  When  they  had  subsided,  a  huge 
Indian  came  forward,  and  sternly  confronted  the  prisoner.  This 
man  was  Malatchie,  the  executioner;  and  he  looked  the  horrid 
trade  which  he  professed.  His  garments  were  stained  and 
smeared  with  blood^  and  covered  with  scalps,  which,  connected 
together  by  slight  strings,  formed  a  loose  robe  over  his  shoulders, 
In  one  hand  he  carried  a  torch,  in  the  other  a  knife.  He  came 
forward,  under  the  instructions  of  Enoree-Mattee,  the  prophet,  to 
claim  the  slave  of  Opitchi-Maimeyto, — that  is,  in  our  language, 
the  slave  of  hell.  This  he  did  in  the  following  strain  : — 

"  Tis  Opitchi-Manneyto 
In  Malatchie's  ear  that  cries, 
This  is  not  the  Yemassee — 
And  the  woman's  word  is  true — 
He's  a  dog  that  should  be  mine, 
I  have  hunted  for  him  long. 
From  his  master  he  had  run, 
With  the  stranger  made  his  home, 
Now  I  have  him,  he  is  mine — 
Hear  Opitchi-Mauneyto."  * 

And,  as  the  besmeared  and  malignant  executioner  howled  his 
fierce  demand  in  the  very  ears  of  his  victim,  he  hurled  the  knife 
which  he  carried,  upwards  with  such  dexterity  into  the  air,  that 
it  rested,  point  downward,  and  sticking  fast  on  its  descent  into 
the  tree  and  just  above  the  head  of  the  doomed  Occonestoga. 
"With  his  hand,  the  next  instant,  he  laid  a  resolute  gripe  upon  the 
shoulder  of  the  victim,  as  if  to  confirm  and  strengthen  his  claim 
by  actual  possession ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  with  a  sort  oi 
malignant  pleasure,  he  thrust  his  besmeared  and  distorted  visage 
close  into  the  face  of  his  prisoner.  Writhing  against  the  liga 
ments  which  bound  him  fast,  Occonestoga  strove  to  turn  his 
head  aside  from  the  dis'gusting  and  obtrusive  presence ;  and  the 
desperation  of  his  effort,  but  that  he  had  been  too  carefully  secured, 
might  have  resulted  in  the  release  of  some  of  his  lirubs  ;  for  the 
breast  heaved  and  laboured,  and  every  muscle  of  his  arms  and 


THE    YEMASSEE.  215 

egs  was  wrought,  by  his  severe  action,  into  so  many  ropes,  hard, 
full,  aud  indicative  of  prodigious  strength. 

There  was  one  person  in  that  crowd  vvbo  sympathized  with  the 
victim.  This  was  Hiwassee,  the  maiden  in  whose  ears  he  had 
uttered  a  word,  which,  in  her  thoughtless  scream  and  subsequent 
declaration  of  the  event,  when  she  had  identified  him,  had  been 
the  occasion  of  his  captivity.  Something  of  self-reproach  for  her 
share  in  his  misfortune,  and  an  old  feeling  of  regard  for  Occones- 
toga,  who  had  once  been  a  favourite  with  the  young  of  both  sexes 
among  his  people,  was  at  work  in  her  bosom  ;  aud,  turning  to 
Echotee,  her  newly-accepted  lover,  as  soon  as  the  demand  of 
Malatchie  had  been  heard,  she  prayed  him  to  resist  the  demand. 
In  such  cases,  all  that  a  warrior  had  to  do  was  simply  to  join 
issue  upon  the  claim,  and  the  popular  will  then  determines  the 
question.  Echotee  could  not  resist  an  application  so  put  to  him, 
and  by  one  who  had  just  listened  to  a  prayer  of  his  own,  so  all- 
important  to  his  own  happiness  ;  and  being  himself  a  noble  youth, 
one  who  had  been  a  rival  of  the  captive  in  his  better  days,  a  feel 
ing  of  generosity  combined  with  the  request  of  Hiwassee,  and  he 
boldly  leaped  forward.  Seizing  the  knife  of  Malatchie,  which 
stuck  in  the  tree,  he  drew  it  forth  and  threw  it  upon  the  ground, 
thus  removing  the  sign  of  property  which  the  executioner  had  put 
up  in  behalf  of  the  evil  deity. 

"  Occonestoga  is  the  brave  of  the  Yemassee,"  exclaimed  the 
young  Echotee,  while  the  eyes  of  the  captive  looked  what  his 
lips  could  not  have  said.  "  Occonestoga  is  a  brave  of  Yemas 
see — he  is  no  dog  of  Malatchie.  Wherefore  is  the  cord  upon  the 
limbs  of  a  free  warrior  ?  Is  not  Occonestoga  a  free  warrior  of 
Yemassee  ?  The  eyes  of  Echotee  have  looked  upon  a  warrior  like 
Occonestoga,  when  he  took  many  scalps.  Did  not  Occonestoga 
lead  the  Y"emassee  against  the  Savannahs  ?  The  eyes  of  Echotee 
saw  him  slay  the  red-eyed  Suwannee,  the  great  chief  of  the  Sa 
vannahs.  Did  not  Occonestoga  go  on  the  war-path  with  our 
young  braves  against  the  Edistoes,  the  brown-foxes  that  came  out 
of  the  swamp  ?  The  eyes  of  Echotee  beheld  him.  Occonestoga 
is  a  brave,  and  a  hunter  of  Yemassee — he  is  not  the  dog  of  Ma 
latchie.  He  knows  not  fear.  He  hath  an  arrow  with  wings,  and 


THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  panther  he  runs  down  in  the  chase.  His  tread  is  the  tread  of 
a  sly  serpent  that  comes,  so  that  he  hears  him  not,  upon  the  track 
of  the  red  deer,  feeding  down  in  the  valley.  Echotee  knows  the 
warrior — Echotee  knows  the  hunter — he  knows  Oceonestoga,  but 
he  knows  no  dog  of  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

"  He  hath  drunk  of  the  poison  drink  of  the  pale-faces — his  feet 
are  gone  from  the  good  path  of  the  Yemassee — he  would  sell  his 
people  to  the  English  for  a  painted  bird.  He  is  the  slave  of  Opit 
chi-Manneyto,"  cried  Malatchie,  in  reply.  Echotee  was  not  satisfied 
to  yield  the  point  so  soon,  and  he  responded  accordingly. 

"  It  is  true.  The  feet  of  the  young  warrior  have  gone  away 
from  the  good  paths  of  the  Yemassee,  but  I  see  not  the  weakness 
of  the  chief,  when  my  eye  looks  back  upon  the  great  deeds  of  the 
warrior.  I  see  nothing  but  the  shrinking  body  of  Suwannee  under 
the  knee,  under  the  knife  of  the  Yemassee.  I  hear  nothing  but 
the  war-whoop  of  the  Yemassee,  when  we  broke  through  the  camp 
of  the  brown-foxes,  and  scalped  them  where  they  skulked  in  the 
swamp.  I  see  this  Yemassee  strike  the  foe  and  take  the  scalp,  and 
I  know  Occonestoga — Occonestoga,  the  son  of  the  well-beloved — 
the  great  chief  of  the  Yemassee/' 

"  It  is  good — Occonestoga  has  thanks  for  Echotee — Echotee  is 
a  brave  warrior !"  murmured  the  captive  to  his  champion,  in  tones 
of  melancholy  acknowledgment.  The  current  of  public  feeling 
began  to  set  somewhat  in  behalf  of  the  victim,  and  an  occasional 
whisper  to  that  eifect  might  be  heard  here  and  there  among  the 
multitude.  Even  Malatchie  himself  looked  for  a  moment  as  if  he 
thought  it  not  improbable  that  he  might  be  defrauded  of  his  prey  ; 
and,  while  a  free  shout  from  many  attested  the  compliment  which 
all  were  willing  to  pay  to  Echotee  for  his  magnanimous  defence  of 
one  who  had  once  been  a  rival — and  not  always  successful — in 
the  general  estimation,  the  executioner  turned  to  the  prophet  and 
to  Sanutee,  as  if  doubtful  whether  or  not  to  proceed  farther  in  his 
claim.  But  all  doubt  was  soon  quieted,  as  the  stern  father  rose 
before  the  assembly.  Every  sound  was  stilled  in  expectation  of  his 
words  on  this  so  momentous  an  occasion  to  himself.  They  waited 
not  long.  The  old  man  had  tasked  all  the  energies  of  the  patriot. 
not  less  than  of  the  stoic,  and  having  once  determined  upon  the 


"  THE    YEMASSEE.  217 

necessity  of  the  sacrifice,  he  had  110  hesitating  fears  or  scruples 
palsying  his  determination,  lie  seemed  not  to  regard  the  im 
ploring  glance  of  his  son,  seen  and  felt  by  all  besides  in  the  as 
sembly  ;  but,  with  a  voice  entirely  unaffected  by  the  circumstances 
of  his  position,  he  spoke  forth  the  doom  of  the  victim  in  confirma 
tion  with  that  originally  expressed. 

"  Echotee  has  spoken  like  a  brave  warrior  with  a  tongue  of 
truth,  and  a  soul  that  has  birth  with  the  sun.  But  he  speaks  out 
of  his  own  heart — and  does  not  speak  to  the  heart  of  the  traitor 
The  Yemassee  will  all  say  for  Echotee,  but  who  can  say  for  Occo- 
riestoga  when  Sanutee  himself  is>  silent?  Does  the  Yemassee 
speak  with  a  double  tongue  ?  Did  not  the  Yemassee  promise 
Occonestoga  to  Opitchi-Manneyto  with  the  other  chiefs  ?  Where  are 
they  ?  They  are  gone  into  the  swamp,  where  the  sun  shines  not, 
and  the  eyes  of  Opitchi-Manneyto  are  upon  them.  He  knows  them 
for  his  slaves.  The  arrow  is  gone  from  their  shoulders,  and  the 
Yemassee  knows  them  no  longer.  Shall  the  dog  escape,  who  led 
the  way  to  the  English — who  brought  the  poison  drink  to  the  chiefs, 
which  made  them  dogs  to  the  English  and  slaves  to  Opitchi-Man- 
oeyto  ?  Shall  he  escape  the  doom  the  Yemassee  hath  put  upon 
them  ?  Sanutee  speaks  the  voice  of  the  Manneyto.  Occonestoga 
is  a  dog,  who  would  sell  his  father — who  would  make  our  women 
to  carry  water  for  the  pale-faces.  lie  is  not  the  son  of  Sanutee— 
Sanutee  knows  him  no  more.  Look, — Yemassees — the  well-be- 
ioved  has  spoken  !"  ' 

He  paused,  and  turning  away,  sank  down  silently  upon  the  little 
oank  on  which  he  had  before  rested  ;  while  Malatchie,  without 
further  opposition — for  the  renunciation  of  his  own  son  by  one  so 
highly  esteemed  as  Sanutee,  was  conclusive  against  the  youth — 
advanced  to  execute  the  terrible  judgment  upon  his  victim. 

"  Oh  !  father,  chief,  Sanutee,  the  well-beloved  !" — was  the  cry 
that  now,  for  the  first  time,  burst  convulsively  from  the  lips  of  the 
prisoner — *'  hear  me,  father — Occonestoga  will  go  on  the  war-path 
with  thee,  and  with  the  Yemassee — against  the  Edisto,  against  the 
Spaniard — hear,  Sanutee — he  will  go  with  thee  against  the  Eng 
lish."  But  the  old  man  bent  not — yielded  not,  and  the  crowd 
gathered  nigher  in  the  intensity  of  their  interest 

10 


218  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"Wilt  thou  have  no  ear,  Samitee? — it  is  Occonestoga — it  is  the 
»on  of  Matiwan  that  speaks  to  thee."  Sanutee's  head  sank  as  the 
reference  was  made  to  Matiwan,  but  he  showed  no  other  sign  of 
emotion.  He  moved  not — he  spoke  not — and  bitterly  and  hope 
lessly  the  youth  exclaimed — 

"  Oh  !  thou  art  colder  than  the  stone-house  of  the  adder — and 
deafer  than  his  ears.  Father,  Sanutee,  wherefore  wilt  thou  lose  me, 
3ven  as  the  tree  its  leaf,  when  the  storm  smites  it  in  summer  ? 
Save  me,  my  father." 

And  his  head  sank  .in  despair,  as  he  beheld  the  unchanging 
look  of  stern  resolve  with  whicji  the  unbending  sire  regarded  him. 
For  a  moment  he  was  unmanned  :  until  a  loud  shout  of  derision 
from  the  crowd,  as  they  beheld  the  show  of  his  weakness,  came  to 
the  support  of  his  pride.  The  Indian  shrinks  from  humiliation, 
where  he  would  not  shrink  from  death  ;  and,  as  the  shout  reached 
his  ears,  he  shouted  back  his  defiance,  raised  his  head  loftily  in 
air,  and  with  the  most  perfect  composure,  commenced  singing  his 
song  of  death,  the  song  of  many  victories. 

"  Wherefore  sings  he  his  death-song  ?"  was  the  cry  from  many 
voices, — "  he  is  not  to  die  !" 

"  Thou  art  the  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto,"  cried  Malatchie  to 
the  captive — "  thou  shalt  sing  no  lie  of  thy  victories  in  the  ear 
of  Yemassee.  The  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto  has  no  triumph" — 
and  the  words  of  the  song  were  effectually  drowned,  if  not  silenced, 
in  the  tremendous  clamour  which  they  raised  about  him.  It  was 
then  that  Malatchie  claimed  his  victim — the  doom  had  been  already 
given,  but  the  ceremony  of  expatriation  and  outlawry  was  yet  to 
follow,  and  under  the  direction  of  the  prophet,  the  various  castes 
and  classes  of  the  nation  prepared  to  take  a  final  leave  of  one  who 
could  no  longer  be  known  among  them.  First  of  all  came  a 
band  of  young  marriageable  women,  who,  wheeling  in  a  circle  three 
times  about  him,  sang  together  a  wild  apostrophe  containing  a  bitter 
farewell,  which  nothing  in  our  language  could  perfectly  embody. 

"  Go, — thou  hast  no  wife  in  Yemassee — thou  hast  given  no  lodge 
to  the  daughter  of  Yemassee — thou  hast  slain  no  meat  for  thy 
children.  Thou  hast  no  name — the  women  of  Yemassee  know  thee 
ao  more.  They  know  thee  no  more.'' 


THE    YEMASSEE.  219 

And  the  final  sentence  was  reverberated  from  the  entire  assem- 

uj- 

"  They  know  thee  no  more — they  know  thee  no  more." 

Then  came  a  number  of  the  ancient  men — the  patriarchs  of  the 
nation,  who  surrounded  him  in  circular  mazes  three  several  times, 
singing  as  they  did  so  a  hyrnn  of  like  import. 

*'  Go — thou  sittest  not  in  the  council  of  Yemassee — thou  shall 
not  speak  wisdom  to  the  boy  ihat  conies.  Thou  hast  no  name  in 
Yemassee — the  fathers  of  Yemassee,  they  know  thee  no  more." 

And  again  the  whole  assembly  cried  out,  as  with  one  voice — 
"  They  know  thee  no  more,  they  know  tnce  no  more." 

These  were  followed  by  the  young  warr.ors,  his  old  associates, 
who  now,  in  a  solemn  band,  approached  him  t-o  go  through  a  like 
performance.  His  eyes  were  shut  as  they  came — his  blood  was 
chilled  in  his  heart,  and  the  articulated  farewell  of  their  wild  chant 
failed  seemingly  to  reach  his  ear.  Nothing  but  the  last  sentence 
he  heard — 

"Thou  that  wast  a  brother, 
Thou  art  nothing  now — 
The  young  warriors  of  Yemassee, 
They  know  thee  no  more." 

And  the. crowd  cried  with  them — "they  know  thee  no  more." 
"  Is  no  hatchet  sharp  for  Occonestoga  ?" — moaned  forth  the 
suffering  savage.  But  his  trials  were  only  then  begun.  Enoree- 
Mattee  now  approached  him  with  the  words,  with  which,  as  the 
representative  of  the  good  Manneyto,  he  renounced  him, — with 
which  he  denied  him  access  to  the  Indian  heaven,  and  left  him  a 
slave  and  an  outcast,  a  miserable  wanderer  amid  the  shadows  and 
the  swamps,  and  liable  to  all  the  dooms  and  terrors  which  come 
with  the  service  of  Opitchi-Manneyto. 

"  Thou  wast  the  child  of  Manneyto" — 

sung  the  high  priest  in  a  solemn  chant,  and  with  a  deep-toned 
voice  that  thrilled  strangely  amid  the  silence  of  the  scere. 

**  Thou  wast  a  child  *>f  Manneyto, 
H«  gave  thee  arrows  and  an  eye,— 


220  THE    YEMASSEE. 

Thou  wast  the  strong  son  of  Manneyto, 
He  gave  thee  feathers  and  a  wing — 
Thou  wast  a  young  brave  of  Manneyto, 
He  gave  thee  scalps  and  a  war-song — 
But  he  knows  thee  no  more — he  knows  thee  no  mor*  ' 

And  the  clustering  multitude  again  gave  back  the  last  line  ;P  wila 
chorus.     The  prophet  continued  his  chant : 

"  That  Opitchi-Manneyto  I — 
He  commands  thee  for  his  slave — 
And  the  Yernassee  must  hear  him, 
Hear,  and  give  thee  for  his  slave — 
They  will  take  from  thee  the  arrow, 
The  broad  arrow  of  thy  people — 
Thou  shalt  see  no  blessed  valley, 
Where  the  plum-groves  always  bloom — 
Thou  shalt  hear  no  song  of  valour, 
From  the  ancient  Yemassee — 
Father,  mother,  name,  and  people, 
Thou  shalt  lose  with  that  broad  arrow, 
Thou  art  lost  to  the  Manneyto — 
He  knows  thee  no  more,  he  knows  thee  no  more.** 

The  despair  of  hell  was  in  the  face  of  the  victim,  and  he  howled 
forth,  in  a  cry  of  agony,  that,  for  a  moment,  silenced  the  wild 
chorus  of  the  crowd  around,  the  terrible  consciousness  in  his  mind  of 
that  privation  which  the  doom  entailed  upon  him.  Every  feature 
was  convulsed  with  emotion  ;  and  the  terrors  of  Opitchi-Manneyto's 
dominion  seemed  already  in  strong  exercise  upon  the  muscles  of 
his  heart,  when  Sanutee,  the  father,  silently  approached  him,  arid 
with  a  pause  of  a  few  moments,  stood  gazing  upon  the  son  from 
whom  he  was  to  be  separated  eternally — whom  not  even  the 
uniting,  the  restoring  hand  of  death  could  possibly  restore  to  him. 
And  he — his  once  noble  son — the  pride  of  his  heart,  the  gleam  of 
his  hope,  the  triumphant  warrior,  who  was  even  to  increase  his 
own  glory,  and  transmit  the  endearing  title  of  well-beloved,  which 
the  Yemassee  had  given  him,  to  a  succeeding  generation — he  was 
to  be  lost  for  ever  !  These  promises  were  all  blasted,  and  the  father 
was  now  present  to  yield  him  up  eternally — to  deny  him — to  forfeit 
him,  in  fearful  penalty  to  the  nation  whose  genius  he  had  wronged. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  221 

and  whose  rights  he  had  violated.  The  old  man  stood  for  a 
moment,  rather,  we  may  suppose,  for  the  .recovery  of  his  resolu 
tion,  than  with  any  desire  for  the  contemplation  of  the  pitiable 
form  before  him.  The  pride  of  the  youth  came  back  to  him, — 
the  pride  of  the  strong  mind  in  its  desolation — as  his  eye  caugh* 
the  inflexible  gaze  of  his  unswerving  father  ;  and  he  exclaimed 
bitterly. and  loud  : — 

"Wherefore  art  thou  c"ome — thou  hast  been  my  foe,  not  my 
father — away — I  would  not  behold  thee !"  and  he  closed  his  eyes 
after  the  speech,  as  if  to  relieve  himself  from  a  disgusting  presence. 

"Thou  hast  said  well,  Occonestoga — Sanutee  is  thy  foe — he  is 
not  thy  father.  To  say  this  in  thy  ears  has  he  come.  Look  on 
him,  Occonestoga — look  up,  and  hear  thy  doom.  The  young  and 
the  old  of  the  Yemassee — the  warrior  and  the  chief, — they  have 
all  denied  thee — all  given  thee  up  to  Opitchi-Manneyto  !  Occones 
toga  is  no  name  for  the  Yemassee.  The  Yemassee  gives  it  to  his 
dog.  The  prophet  of  Manneyto  has  forgotten  thee — thou  art 
unknown  to  those  who  were  thy  people.  And  I,  thy  father — with 
this  speech,  I  yield  thee  to  Opitchi-Manneyto.  Sanutee  is  no 
longer  thy  father — thy  father  knows  thee  no  more" — and  once 
more  came  to  the  ears  of  the  victim  that  melancholy  chorus  of  the 
multitude — "  He  knows  thee  no  more — he  knows  thee  no  more." 
Sanutee  turned  quickly  away  as  he  had  spoken;  and,  as  if  he 
suffered  more  th*n  he  was  willing  to  show,  the  old  man  rapidly 
hastened  to  the  little  mound  where  he  had  been  previously  sitting, 
his  eyes  averted  from  the  further  spectacle.  Occonestoga,  goaded 
to  madness  by  these  several  incidents,  shrieked  forth  the  bitterest 
execrations,  until  Enoree-Mattee,  preceding  Malatchie,  again  ap 
proached.  Having  given  some  directions  in  an  under-tone  to  the 
latter,  he  retired,  leaving  the  executioner  alone  with  his  victim. 
Malatchie,  then,  while  all  was  silence  in  the  crowd — a  thick 
silence,  in  which  even  respiration  seemed  to  be  suspended — pro 
ceeded  to  his  duty ;  and,  lifting  the  feet  of  Occonestoga  carefully 
from  the  ground,  he  placed  a  log  under  them — then  addressing 
him.  as  he  again  bared  his  knife  which  he  stuck  in  the  tree  above 
his  head,  he  »uug — 


222  THE     YEMASSEE. 

"  I  take  from  thee  the  earth  of  Yemassee — 
I  take  from  thee  the  water  of  Yemassee — 
I  take  from  thee  the  arrow  of  Yemassee-— 
Thou  art  no  longer  a  Yemassee — 
The  Yemassee  knows  thee  no  more." 

"  The  Yemassee  knows  thee  nc  more,"  cried  the  multitude,  anc 
their  universal  shout  was  deafening  upon  the  ear.  Occonestoga 
said  no  word  now — he  could  offer  no  resistance  to  the  unnerving 
hands  of  Malatchie,  who  now  bared  the  arm  more  completely  of 
its  covering.  But  his  limbs  were  convulsed  with  the  spasms  of 
that  dreadful  terror  of  the  future  which  was  racking  and  raging  in 
every  pulse  of  his  heart.  lie  had  full  faith  in  the  superstitions  of 
his  people.  His  terrors  acknowledged  the  full  horrors  of  their 
doom.  A  despairing  agony,  which  no  language  could  describe, 
had  possession  of  his  soul.  Meanwhile,  the  silence  of  all  indicated 
the  general  anxiety  ;  and  Malatchie  prepared  to  seize  the  knife 
and  perform  the  operation,  when  a  confused  murmur  arose  from 
the  crowd  around  ;  the  mass  gave  way  and  parted,  and,  rushing 
wildly  into  the  area,  came  Mali  wan,  his  mother — the  long  black 
hair  streaming — the  features,  an  astonishing  likeness  to  his  own, 
convulsed  like  his  ;  and  her  action  that  of  one  reckless  of  all  things 
in  the  way  of  the  forward  progress  she  was  making  to  the  person 
of  her  child.  She  cried  aloud  as  she  came — with  a  voice  that 
rang  like  a  sudden  death-bell  through  the  ring — • 
/  "Would  you  keep  the  mother  from  her  boy,  and  he  to  be  lost 
/  to  her  for  ever  ?  Shall  she  have  no  parting  with  the  young  brave 
/  she  bore  in  her  bosom  ?  Away,  keep  me  not  back — I  will  look 
I  upon,  I  will  love  him.  He  shall  have  the  blessing  of  Matiwan, 
V  though  the  Yemassee  and  the  Manneyto  curse." 

The  victim  heard,  and  a  momentary  renovation  of  mental  life, 
perhaps  a  renovation  of  hope,  spoke  out  in  the  simple  exclamation 
which  fell  from  his  lips — 

"  Oh,  Matiwan — oh,  mother ! ' 

She  rushed  to v» aids  the  spot  where  she  heard  his  appeal,  and 
thrusting  the  exeo^  j.ner  aside,  threw  her  arms  desperately  about 
his  neck. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  225 

him  not,  Matiwan,"  was  the  ger  jral  cry  from  tlie  crowd 
— "  Touch  him  not,  Matiwan — Manneyto  tnows  him  no  more." 

"But  Matiwan  knows  him  —  th^  mother  knows  her  child 
though  the  Manneyto  denies  him.  Oh,  boy — oh,  boy,  boy,  boy.' 
And  she  sobbed  like  an  infant  on  his  neck. 

"  Thou  art  come,  Matiwan — thou  art  come,  but  wherefore  ? — to 
surse  like  the  father — to  curse  like  the  Manneyto  ? "  mournfully 
said  the  captive. 

"  No,  no,  no  !  Not  to  curse — not  to  curse.  When  did  mother 
curse  the  child  she  bore  ?  Not  to  curse,  but  to  bless  thee. — To 
bless  thee  and  forgive." 

"  Tear  her  away,"  cried  the  prophet ;  "  let  Opitchi-Manneyto 
have  his  slave." 

"  Tear  her  away,  Malatchie,"  cried  the  crowd,  now  impatient  for 
the  execution.  Malatchie  approached. 

"  Not  yet — not  yet,"  appealed  the  woman.  "  Shall  not  the 
mother  say  farewell  to  the  child  she  shall  see  no  more  ? "  and  she 
waved  Malatchie  back,  and  in  the  next  instant  drew  hastily  from 
the  drapery  of  her  dress  a  small  hatchet,  which  she  had  there  care 
fully  concealed. 

"  What  wouldst  thou  do,  Matiwan  ? "  asked  Occonestoga,  as  his 
eye  caught  the  glare  of  the  weapon. 

"  Save  thee,  my  boy — save  thee  for  thy  mother,  Occonestoga — 
save  thee  for  the  happy  valley." 

"  Wouldst  thou  slay  me,  mother — wouldst  strike  the  heart  of 
thy  son  ? "  he  asked,  with  a  something  of  reluctance  to  receive 
death  from  the  hands  of  a  parent. 

"  I  strike  thee  but  to  save  thee,  my  son : — since  they  cannot 
take  the  totem  from  thee  after  the  life  is  gone.  Turn  away  from 
me  thy  head — let  me  not  look  upon  thine  eyes  as  I  strike,  lest  my 
hands  grow  weak  and  tremble.  Turn  thine  eyes  away — I  will  no1 
lose  thee." 

His  eyes  closed,  and  the  fatal  instrument,  lifted  above  her  head, 
was  now  visible  in  the  sight  of  all.  The  executioner  rushed  for 
ward  to  interpose,  but  he  came  too  late.  The  tomahawk  was 
driven  deep  into  the  skull,  and  but  a  single  sentence  from  his  lips 
the  final  insensibility  of  the  victim. 


224:  THE   YEMASSEE. 

"  It  is  good,  Matiwan,  it  is  good — thou  hast  saved  me — the 
death  is  in  my  heart."  And  back  he  sank  as  he  spoke,  while  a 
shriek  of  mingled  joy  and  horror  from  the  lips  of  the  mother 
announced  the  success  of  her  effort  to  defeat  the  doom,  the  most 
dreadful  in  the  imagination  of  the  Yemassoe. 

"  He  is  not  lost — he  is  not  lost.  They  may  not  take  the  child 
from  his  mother.  They  may  not  keep  him  from  the  valley  of  Man- 
neyto.  He  is  free — he  is  free."  And  she  fell  back  in  a  deep 
swoon  into  the  arms  of  Sanutee,  who  by  this  time  had  approached. 
She  had  defrauded  Opitchi-Manneyto  of  his  victim,  for  they  may 
not  remove  the  badge  of  the  nation  from  any  but  the  living  victim. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

For  lore  and  war  are  twins,  and  both  are  made 
Of  a  strange  passion,  which  misleads  the  sense, 
And  makes  the  feeling  madness.    Thus  they  grow 
The  thorn  and  flower  together,  wounding  oft 
When  most  seductive." 

SOME  :j-\u  only  live  for  great  occasions.  They  sleep  in  the 
calm — bwi  jatfake  to  double  life,  and  unlocked  for  activity,  in  the 
tempest..  Tliey  are  the  zephyr  in  peace,  the  storm  in  war.  They 
smile  until  you  think  it  impossible  they  should  ever  do  otherwise, 
and  you  are  paralyzed  when  you  behold  the  change  which  an  hour 
brings  abouv  in  them.  Their  whole  life  in  public  would  seem  a 
splendid  dec  option  ;  and  as  their  minds  and  feelings  are  generally 
beyond  thos  j  of  the  great  mass  which  gathers  about,  and  in  the 
end  depends  upon  them,  so  they  continually  dazzle  the  vision  and 
distract  the  judgment  of  those  who  passingly  observe  them. 
Such  men  b  .come  the  tyrants  of  all  the  rest,  and,  as  there  are  two 
kinds  of  tyi  umy  in  the  world,  they  either  enslave  to  cherish  or 
to  destroy. 

Of  this  c  ass  *was  Harrison, — erratic,  daring,  yet  thoughtful, — 
and  not  to  be  measured  by  such  a  mind  as  that  of  the  pastor 
Matthews.  We  have  seen  his  agency — a  leading  agency — in  much 
of  the  busin  ss  of  the  preceding  narrative.  It  was  not  an  agency 
of  the  moi^ent,  but  of  continued  exertion,  the  result  of  a  due 
recognition  vf  the  duties  required  at  his  hands.  Nor  is  this  agency  to 
be  discontinued  now.  He  is  still  busy,  and,  under  his  direction  and 
with  his  assistance,  the  sound  of  the  hammer,  and  the  deep  echo 
of  the  axe,  in  the  hands  of  Granger,  the  smith,  and  Hector,  were 
heard  without  intermission  in  the  Block  House,  "  closing  rivets  up," 
and  putting  all  things  in  a  state  of  preparation  for  those  coming 
dangers  to  the  colony,  which  his  active  mind  had  predicted.  ,  He 
was  not  to  be  deceived  by  the  thousand  shows  which  are  apt  tc 
deceive  others.  He  looked  more  deeply  into  principles  and  the 


226  THE    YEMASSEE. 


of  moods  in  other  men,  than  is  the  common  liabit  ;  and 
while  few  of  the  borderers  estimated  with  him  the  amount  of  dan 
ger  and  difficulty  which  he  felt  to  be  at  hand,  he  gave  himself  noi 
the  slightest  trouble  in  considering  their  vague  speculations,  to 
which  a  liberal  courtesy  might  have  yielded  the  name  of  opinions. 
His  own  thoughts  were  sufficient  for  him  ;  and  while  this  indiffer 
ence  may  seem  to  have  been  the  product  of  an  excessive  self-esteem, 
we  shall  find  in  the  sequel  that,  in  the  present  case,  it  arose  from 
a  strong  conviction,  the  legitimate  result  of  a  calm  survey  of 
objects  and  actions,  and  a  cool  and  deliberate  judgment  upon  them. 
We  have  beheld  some  of  Harrison's  anxieties  in  the  strong  mani 
festation  which  he  gave  to  Occonestoga,  when  he  despatched  the 
unfortunate  young  savage  as  a  spy,  on  an  adventure  which  had 
found  such  an  unhappy  and  unlooked-for  termination.  Entirely 
ignorant  of  the  event,  it  was  with  no  small  impatience  that  his 
employer  waited  for  his  return  during  the  entire  night  and  the 
better  portion  of  the  ensuing  day.  The  distance  was  not  so  great 
between  the  two  places,  but  that  the  fleet-footed  Indian  might  have 
readily  overcome  it  in  a  night  ;  giving  him  sufficient  allowance  of 
time  also  for  all  necessary  discoveries  ;  and,  doubtless,  such  would 
have  been  the  case  but  for  his  ill-advised  whisper  in  the  ear  of 
Hiwassee,  and  the  not  less  ill-advised  visit  to  the  cottage  of  Mali- 
wan.  The  affection  of  the  mother  for  the  fugitive  and  outlawed 
son,  certainly,  deserved  no  less  acknowledgment  ;  but,  while  it 
merited  the  most  grateful  returns,  —  such  as  the  young  chief,  what 
ever  might  have  been  his  faults  and  vices,  yet  cheerfully  and  fondly 
gave  her  —  the  indiscreet  visit  was  sadly  in  conflict  with  the  best 
policy  of  the  warrior.  His  failure  —  the  extent  yet  unknown  to 
Harrison  —  left  the  latter  doubtful  whether  to  ascribe  it  to  his  mis 
fortune,  or  to  treachery  ;  and  this  doubt  contributed  greatly  to  his 
solicitude.  In  spite  of  the  suggestions  of  Granger,  who  knew  that 
bad  faith  was  not  among  the  vices  of  the  young  warrior,  he  could 
not  help  suspecting  him  of  deserting  from  the  English  cause  as  the 
_only  means  by  which  to  secure  himself  a  reinstatement  in  the  con 
fidence  of  his  people  ;  and  this  suspicion,  while  it  led  to  new 
preparations  for  the  final  issue,  on  the  part  of  Harrison,  was  fruitful, 
at  the  same  time,  of  exaggerated  anxiety  in  his  mind.  To  much  of 


IfcMASSEE.  227 

tlit*  b-ndgery  of  he*i«ig  and  ham.nering,  therefore,  he  subjected 
himself  with  the  rest;  and,  though  cheerful  in  its  performance, 
the  most  casual  observer  could  have  readily  seen  how  much  station 
and  education  had  made  him  superior  to  such  employments. 
Having  thus  laboured  for  seme  time,  he  proceeded  to  other  parts 
of  his  assumed  duties,  and,  at  length,  mounting  his  steed, — a 
favourite  and  fine  chestnut — and  followed  by  Dugdale,  who  had 
been  carefully  muzzled,  he  took  his  way,  in  «4  fleet  gallop,  through 
the  intricacies  of  the  surrounding  country. 

The  mystery  was  a  singular  one  which  hairg  over  Harrison  in  all 
that  region.  It  was  strange  how  people  lovecJ  him — how  popular 
he  had  become,  even  while  in  all  his  individual  relations  and  ob 
jects  so  perfectly  unknown.  He  had  somehow  won  golden  opinions 
from  all  the  borderers,  wild,  untameable,  and  like  the  savages,  as 
in  many  cases  they  were ;  and  the  utmost  coniidence  was  placed 
in  his  opinions,  even  when,  as  at  this  time  was  the  case,  they 
happened  to  differ  from  the  general  tenor  of  their  own.  This 
confidence,  indeed,  had  been  partially  given  him,  in  the  first 
instance,  from  the  circumstance  of  his  having  taken  their  lead  sud 
denly,  at  a  moment  of  great  danger  and  panw ;  when  all  were 
stricken  with  terror  but  himself;  and  none  knew  what  to  do,  and 
no  one  undertook  to  guide.  Then  it  was,  that,  with  an  audacity 
that  looked  like  madness  (but  which  is  the  best  policy  in  time  of 
peril),  he  fearlessly  led  forth  a  small  party,  taking  the  initiative,  in 
an  encounter  with  the  Coosaws.  This  was  a  reduced  but  brave  and 
desperate  tribe,  which  had  risen,  without  any  other  warning  than  the 
war-whoop,  upcfn  the  Beaufort  settlement.  His  valour  on  this  occa 
sion,  obtained  from  the  Indians  themselves  the  nom  de  guerre  of  Coo- 
sah-maray-ie,  or  the  Coosaw-killer.  It  was  one  that  seems  to  have  been 
well  deserved,  for,  in  that  affair,  the  tribe  nearly  suffered  annihilation, 
and  but  a  single  town,  that  of  Coosaw-hatchic,  or  the  refuge  of  the 
Coosaws,  was  left  them  of  all  their  possessions.  The  poor  remains 
of  their  people  from  that  time  became  incorporated  with  the  Yc- 
massees.  Harrison's  reckless  audacity,  cheerful  freedom,  mingled  at 
the  same  time  so  strangely  with  playfulness  and  cool  composure, 
while  exciting  the  strongest  interest,  created  the  warmest  regard 
among  the  foresters ;  and,  though  in  all  respects  of  residence  arid 


228  THE    YEMASSEE. 

family  utterly  unknown  except  to  one,  or  at  the  most,  to  two 
among  them — appearing  as  he  did,  only  now  and  then,  and  as 
suddenly  disappearing — yet  all  were  glad  when  he  came,  and  sor 
ry  when  he  departed.  Esteeming  him  thus,  they  gave  him  the 
command  of  the  "  green  jackets,"  the  small  corps  which,  in 
that  neighbourhood,  the  affair  of  the  Coosaws  had  first  brought  into 
'something  like  a  regular  organization,  lie  accepted  this  trust 
readily,  but  frankly  assured  his  men  that  he  might  not  be  present 
— such  were  his  labours  elsewhere — at  all  times  to  discharge  the 
duties.  Such,  however,  was  his  popularity  among  them,  that  a 
qualification  like  this  failed  to  affect  their  choice.  They  took  him 
on  his  own  terms,  called  him  Captain  Harrison,  or,  more  familiarly, 
captain,  and  never  troubled  themselves  for  a  single  instant  to 
inquire  whether  that  were  his  right  name  or  not  ;  though,  if  they 
had  any  doubts,  they  never  suffered  them  to  reach,  certainly  never 
to  offend,  the  ears  of  their  commander.  The  pastor,  rather  more 
scrupulous,  as  he  reflected  upon  his  daughter,  and  her  affections, 
lacked  something  of  this  confidence.  We  have  seen  how  his  doubts 
grew  as  his  inquiries  had  been  baffled.  The  reader,  if  he  has  not 
been  altogether  inattentive  to  the  general  progress  of  the  narrative, 
has  probably,  at  this  moment,  a  more  perfect  knowledge  of  our 
hero  than  either  of  these  parties. 

But  to  return,  llarrison  rode  away  into  the  neighbouring 
country,  all  the  settlements  of  which  he  appeared  perfectly  tc 
know.  His  first  visit  in  that  quarter  had  been  the  result  of  curi 
osity  in  part,  and  partly  in  consequence  of  some  public  responsibi 
lities  coming  with  an  oilicial  station,  as  by  this  time  the  reader 
will  have  conjectured.  A  new  and  warmer  interest  came  with 
these  duties  soon  after  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  beau 
tiful  Bess  Matthews ;  and  having  involved  his  own  affections  with 
that  maiden,  it  was  not"  long  before  he  found  himself  able  to  com 
mand  hers.  The  father  of  Miss  Matthews  objected,  as  we  have 
seen,  not  simply  because  nothing  was  certainly  known  of'  the  family 
and  social  position  of  the  lover ;  but  because  the  latter  had  by  his 
free  bearing  and  perfect  aplomb,  outraged  the  self-esteem  and  dig- 
uity  of  the  clerical  dignitary.  But  love  seldom  seriously  listens  tc 
the  objections  o''  a  papa  ;  and  though  l>c,ss -Matthews  was  as  duti- 


THE   YEMASSEE. 

ful  a  damsel  as  ever  dreamed  of  happiness,  still  her  affections  were 
a  little  too  strong  for  parental  authority.  She  loved  Gabriel  Har 
rison  with  a  faith  which  preferred  to  confide  where  the  pasto* 
required  that  she  should  question  ;  and  the  exhortations  of  the  old 
gentleman  had  only  the  effec ,  of  increasing  a  passion  which  grows 
vigorous  from  restraint,  and  acquires  obstinacy  from  compulsion. 

But  the  lover  went  not  forth  on  this  occasion  in  quest  of  his 
mistress.  His  labours  were  more  imposing,  if  less  grateful.  He 
went  forth  among  his  troop  and  their  families.  He  had  a  voice  of 
warning  for  all  the  neighbouring  cottagers — a  warning  of  danger, 
and  an  exhortation  to  the  borderers  to  be  in  perfect  readiness  for  us 
encounter,  at  the  well-known  signal.  But  his  warning  was  in  a  word 
— an  emphatic  sentence — which,  once  utterred,  affected  in  no  par 
ticular  his  usual  manner.  To  one  and  another  he  had  the  cheerful 
encouragement  of  the  brother  soldier — the  dry  sarcasm  for  the 
rustic  gallant — the  innocuous  jest  to  the  half-won  maiden ;  and, 
with  the  ancient  grandsire  or  grandam,  the  exciting  inquiry  into 
old  times — merry  old  England,  or  hilarious  Ireland — or  whatever 
other  foreign  fatherland  might  claim  to  possess  their  affections. 

This  adjusted,  and  having  prepared  all  minds  for  events  which 
his  own  so  readily  foresaw — having  counselled  the  more  exposed 
and  feeble  to  Uie  shelter  of  the  Block  House  at  the  first  sign  of 
danger, — the  lover  began  to  take  the  place  of  the  commander,  and 
*n  an  hour  we  find  him  in  the  ancient  grove — the  well-known 
place  of  tryst,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  dwelling  of  old 
Matthews.  And  she  was  there — the  girl  of  seventeen — confiding, 
yet  blushing  at  her  own  confideTice,  with  an  ad'ection "as  warm  as 
it  was  unqualified  and  pure.  She  hung  upon  his  arm — she  sat 
beside  him,  and  the  waters  of  the  little  brooklet  gushed  into  music 
as  they  trickled  on  by  their  feet.  The  air  was  full  of  a  song  of 
love — the  birds  sang  it — the  leaves  sighed*  it — the  earth  echoed, 
in  many  a  replication,  its  delicious  burden,  and  they  felt  it.  There 
is  no  life,  if  there  be  no  love.  Love  is  the  life  of  nature — all  is 
unnatural  without  it.  The  golden  bowl  has  no  wine,  if  love  be  not 
at  its  bottom — the  instrument  has  no  music  if  love  come  not  with 


230  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  strain.  "  Let  me  perish,  let  me  perish,"  was  the  murmured  chani 
of  Harrison,  "  when  I  cease  to  love — when  others  cease  to  love  me." 

So  thought  the  two — so  felt  they — and  an  hour  of  delicious 
dreaming  threw  into  their  mutual  souls  a  linked  hope,  which 
promised  not  merely  a  future  and  a  lasting  union  to  their  forms, 
but  an  undecaying  life  to  their  affections.  They  felt  in  reality  tha 
love  must  be  the  life  of  heaven  ! 

"Thou  unmann'st  me,  Bess — thou  dost,  my  Armida — the  air  is 
enchanted  about  thee,  and  the  active  energy  which  keeps  me  ever 
in  motion  when  away  from  thee,  is  gone,  utterly  gone,  when  thou 
art  riigh.  I  could  now  lie  down  in  these  delicious  groves,  and 
dream  away  the  hours — dream  away  life.  Do  nothing  but  dream  ! 
Wherefore  is  it  so  ?  Thou  art  rny  tyrant — I  am  weak  before  thee 
— full  of  fears,  Bess — timid  as  a  child  in  the  dark." 

"  Full  of  hopes  too,  Gabriel,  is  it  not  ?  And  what  is  the  hope  if 
there  be  no  fear — no  doubt  ?  They  sweeten  each  other.  I  thy 
tyrant,,  indeed — when  thou  movest  me  as  thou  wiliest  When  I 
have  eyes  only  for  thy  coming,  and  tears  only  at  thy  departure." 

"And  hast  thou  these  always,  Bess,  for  such  occasions?  Do 
thy  smiles  always  hail  the  one,  and  thy  tears  always  follow  the 
other  ? — I  doubt,  Bess,  if  always." 

"  And  wherefore  doubt — thou  hast  eyes  for  mine,  and  canst  sec 
for  thyself." 

"  True,  but  knowest  thou  not  that  the  lover  looks  most  com 
monly  for  the  beauty,  and  not  often  for  the  sentiment  of  his 
sweetheart's  face  ?  It  is  this  which  they  mean  when  the  poets  tell 
of  love's  blindness.  The  light  of  thine  eye  dims  and  dazzles  the 
gaze  of  mine,  and  I  must  take  the  tale  from  thy  lips — 

"And  safely  thou  mayest,- Gabriel — " 

"  May  I — I  hardly  looked  to  find  thee  so  consenting,  Bess — " 
exclaimed  the  lover,  taking  her  response  in  a  signification  rather 
at  variance  with  that  which  she  contemplated,  and,  before  she  was 
aware,  warmly  pressing  her  rosy  mouth  beneath  his  own. 

"  Not  so — not  so — "  confused  and  blushing  she  exclaimed,  with 
drawing  quickly  from  his  grasp.  "  I  meant  to  say — 

*  T  know — I  know, — thou  wouldst  have  said,  I  mignt  safely  trust 


THE    YEMASSEE.  23 1 

to  the  declaration  of  thy  lips — and  so  I  do,  Bess — and  want 
uo  other  assurance.  I  am  happy  that  thy  words  were  indirect, 
but  I  am  better  assured  as  it  is,  of  what  thou  wouldst  have  said." 

"  Thou  wilt  not  love  me,  Gabriel,  that  thus  I  favour  thee — thou 
seest  how  weak  is  the  poor  heart  which  so  waits  upon  thine,  and 
wilt  cease  to  love  what  is  so  quickly  won." 

"  It  is  so  pretty,  thy  chiding,  Bess,  that  to  have  thee  go  on,  it 
were  well  to  take  another  assurance  from  thy  lips." 

**  Now,  thou  shalt  not — it  is  not  right,  Gabriel ;  besides  my  father 
has  said — " 

"  What  he  should  not  have  said,  and  will  be  sorry  for  saying. 
He  has  said  that  he  knows  me  not,  and  indeed  he  does  not,  and 
shall  not,  so  long  as  in  my  thought  it  is  unnecessary,  and  perhaps 
unwise  that  I  should  be  knowo  to  him." 

"  But,  why  not  to  me — why  shouldst  thou  keep  thy  secret  from 
me,  Gabriel  ?  Thou  couldst  surely  trust  it  to  my  keeping." 

"  Aye,  safely,  I  know,  were  it  proper  for  thee  to  know  any  thing 
which  a  daughter  should  of  right  withhold  from  a  father.  But  as 
I  may  not  give  my  secret  to  him,  I  keep  it  from  thee  ;  not  fearing 
thy  integrity,  but  as  thou  shouldst  not  hold  a  trust  without  sharing 
thy  confidence  with  a  parent.  Trust  me,  ere  long  he  shall  know 
all ;  but  now,  I  may  not  tell  him  or  thee.  I  may  not  speak  a  name 
in  this  neighbourhood,  where,  if  I  greatly  err  not,  its  utterance 
would  make  me  fine  spoil  for  the  cunning  Indians,  who  are  about 
some  treachery." 

"  What,  the  Yemassees  ?" 

"  Even  they,  and  of  this  I  would  have  you  speak  to  your  father. 
I  would  not  foolishly  alarm  you,  but  go  to  him.  Persuade  him  to 
depart  for  the  Block  House,  where  I  have  been  making  preparations 
for  your  comfort.  Let  him  only  secure  you  all  till  this  vessel  takes 
herself  off.  By  that  time  we  shall  see  how  things  go." 

"  But  what  has  this  vessel  to  do  with  it,  Gabriel  ?" 

"  A  great  deal,  Bess,  if  my  apprehensions  are  well  grounded ; 
but  the  reasons  are  tedious  by  which  I  come  to  think  so,  and 
would  only  fatigue  your  ear." 

"  Not  so,  Gabriel — I  would  like  to  hear  them,  for  of  this  vessel, 


232  THE   YEHASSEE. 

or  rather  of  her  captain,  my  father  knows  something.  He  knew 
him  well  in  England." 

"  Aye  !"  eagerly  responded  Harrison — "  I  heard  that,  you  know ; 
but,  in  reality,  what  is  he  ? — who  is  he  ?" 

"  His  name  is  Chorley,  as  you  have  heard  him  say.  My  fathef 
knew  him  when  both  were  young.  They  come  from  the  same 
part  of  the  country.  He  was  a  wild,  ill-bred  profligate,  so  my 
father  said,  in  his  youth  ;  unmanageable,  irregular — left  his  parents, 
and  without  their  leave  went  into  a  ship  and  became  a  sailor.  For 
many  years  nothing  was  seen  of  him — by  my  father  at  least — until 
the  other  day,  when,  by  some  means  or  other,  he  heard  of  us,  and 
made  himself  known  just  before  your  appearance.  I  never  saw 
him  to  know  or  remember  him  before,  but  he  knew  me  when  a 
child." 

"  And  do  you  know  what  he  is — and  his  vessel  ?" 

*'  Nothing  but  this.  He  makes  voyages  from  St  Augustine  and 
Cuba,  and  trades  almost  entirely  with  the  Spaniards  in  that 
quarter." 

"  But  why  should  he  have  no  connexion  here  with  us  of  that 
nature,  or  why  is  he  here  at  all  if  his  business  be  not  with  our 
people  ?  And  it  seems  that  he  hath  no  traffic  with  us — no  com 
munion  for  us,  though  he  doth  apparently  commune  with  the  red 
men.  This  is  one  of  the  grounds  of  my  apprehension — not  to 
speak  of  the  affair  of  Hector,  which  is  enough  of  itself  to  prove 
him  criminal  of  purpose." 

"  Ah — his  crew  is  ignorant  of  the  language,  and  then  he  says,  so 
be  told  us,  he  seeks  to  trade  for  furs  with  the  Indians." 

"  Still  not  enough.  None  of  these  reasons  are  sufficient  to  keep 
his  vessel  from  the  landing,  his  men  from  the  shore,  and  himself 
mysteriously  rambling  in  the  woods  without  offering  at  any  object, 
unless  it  be  the  smuggling  of  our  slaves.  I  doubt  not  he  comes  to 
deal  with  the  Indians,  but  he  comes  as  an  emissary  from  the  Spa 
niards,  and  it  is  our  skins  and  scalps  he  is  after,  if  any  thing." 

"  Speak  not  so,  Gabriel,  you  frighten  me." 

"  Nay,  fear  not.  There  is  no  clanger  if  we  keep  our  eyes  open, 
and  can  get  your  obstinate  old  precisian  of  a  father  to  open  his.w 


THE    YEMASSEE.  238 

"  Hush,  Gabriel,  remember  he  is  my  father."  And  she  looked 
the  rebuke  which  her  lips  uttered. 

"  Aye,  Bess,  I  do  remember  it,  or  I  would  not  bother  my  head 
five  seconds  about  him.  1  should  gather  you  up  in  my  arms  us 
the  Pagan  of  old  gathered  up  his  domestic  gods  when  the  earth 
quake  came,  and  be  off  with  you  without  long  deliberating  whe 
ther  a  father  were  necessary  to  your  happiness  or  not." 

"  Speak  not  so  lightly,  Gabriel,  the  subject  is  too  serious  foi 
jest." 

"  It  is,  Bess,  quite  toe  serious  for  jest,  and  I  do  not  jest,  pr  if  I 
do  I  can't  help  it.  I  was  born  a  jester,  after  a  fashion.  That  is  to 
say,  I  am  somewhat  given  to  mixing  my  laughter  with  my  sorrows; 
and  my  wisdom,  if  I  have  any,  is  always  mingled  with  my  smiles, 
without,  I  trust,  forfeiting  any  of  its  own  virtue  by  the  mixture. 
This,  indeed,  is  one  of  your  father's  objections  to  ine  as  your  suitor;, 
lie  thinks  me  irreverent  when  I  am  only  cheerful.  I  do  not  tie  up 
my  visage  when  I  look  upon  you,  as  if  I  sickened  of  the  thing  I 
looked  on — and  he  well  knows  how  I  detest  that  hypocritical  moral 
starch,  with  which  'our  would-be  saints  contrive  to  let  the  world 
see  that  sunshine  is  sin,  and  a  smile  of  inborn  felicity  a  defiance 
thrown  in  the  teeth  of  the  very  God  that  prompts  it." 

"  But  my  father  is  no  hypocrite,  Gabriel." 

"  Then  why  hoist  his  colours  ?  lie  is  too  good  a  man,  Bess,  to 
be  the  instrument  of  hypocrisy,  and  much  I  fear  me  that  he  some 
times  is.  He  has  too  much  of  the  regular  roundhead — the  genu 
ine,  never-end-the-sermon  manner  of  an  old  Noll  sanctifier.  I 
would  forego  a  kiss — the  sweetest,  Bess,  that  thy  lips  could  give — 
to  persuade  the  old  man,  your  father,  but  for  a  single  moment,  into 
a  hearty,  manly,  honest,  unsophisticated,  downright  laugh.  A^man 
that  can  laugh  out  honestly  and  heartily  is  not  wholly  evil,  I  am 
sure." 

"  It  is  true,  Gabriel,  he  laughs  not,  but  then  he  does  not  frown." 

"  Not  at  thee,  Bess,  not  at  thee  :  who  could  ?  But  he  does  at  me, 
most  ferociously,  and  his  mouth  puckers  up  when  his  eye  rises  to 
mine,  in  all  the  involutions  of  a  -pine  bur.  But  forgive  me :  it  is 
not  of  this  I  would  speak  now.  I  will  forgive,  though  I  may  not 
forget  his  sourness,  if  you  can  persuade  him  into  a  little  caution  at 


234  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  present  moment.  There  is  danger,  I  am  sure,  and  to  him  ^nd 
you  particularly.  Tour  situation  here  is  an  exposed  one.  This 
sailor-friend  or  acquaintance  of  yours,  is  no  friend  if  he  deal  with 
the  Spaniards  of  St.  Augustine ;  is  most  certainly  an  enemy,  and 
most  probably  a  pirate.  I  suspect  him  to  be  the  latter,  and  hava 
my  eyes  on  him  accordingly.  As  to  the  trade  with  the  Indiana 
(hat  he  talks  of,  it  is  all  false,  else  why  should  he  lie  here  so  many 
days  without  change  of  position  or  any  open  intercourse  with 
them  ?  And  then,  what  better  evidence  against  him  than  the  kid' 
napping  of  Hector  ?" 

"  But  he  has  changed  his  position — his  vessel  has  gone  higher 
up  the  river." 

"  Since  when  ?" 

"  Within  the  last  three  hours.  Her  movement  was  pointed  out 
by  my  father  as  we  stood  together  on  the  bluff  fronting  the 
house." 

"  Indeed,  this  must  be  seen  to,  and  requires  despatch.  Come 
with  me,  Bess.  To  your  father  at  once,  and  say  your  strongest 
fears  and  1,  ok  your  sweetest  loves.  Be  twice  as  timid  as  necessary, 
u.u  i-  a  thousand  fears  and  misgivings,  so  that  we  may  persuade 
him  to  the  shelter  of  the  Block  House." 

"  Where  I  may  be  as  much  as  possible  in  the  company  of  Master 
Gabriel  Harrison.  Is  it  not  so  ?"  and  she  looked  up  archly  into 
his  face.  For  once  the  expression  of  his  look  was  grave,  and  his 
eye  gazed  deeply  down  into  her  own.  With  a  sobriety  of  manner 
not  unmixed  with  solemnity,  he  spoke — 

"  Ah,  Bess,  if  I  lose  thee,  I  am  myself  lost !  But  come  with  me, 
I  will  see  thee  to  the  wicket,  safe,  ere  I  leave  thee,  beyond  the  pro 
vince  of  the  rattlesnake." 

"  Speak  not  of  that,"  she  quickly  replied,  with  an  involuntary 
shudder,  looking  around  her  as  she  spoke,  to  the  neighbouring 
wood,  which  was  now  more  than  ever  present  to  her  mind,  with  the 
memories  of  that  scene  of  terror.  Harrison  conducted  her  to  the 
end  of  the  grove,  within  sight  of  her  father's  cottage,  and  his  last 
words  at  leaving  her  were  those  'of  urgent  entreaty,  touching  her 
removal  to  the  BJock  House. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  Away  !  thou  art  the  slave  of  a  base  thought 
And  hast  no  will  of  truth.     I  scorn  thee  now, 
With  my  whole  soul,  as  once,  with  my  whole  soul, 
I  held  thee  worthy  " 

BUT  Bess  Matthews  was  not  left  to  solitude,  though  left  by  hoi 
lover.  A  new  party  came  upon  the  scene,  in  the  person  of  Hugh 
Grays- -m,  emerging  from  the  neighbouring  copse,  from  the  cover  of 
which  he  had  witnessed  the  greater  portion  of  the  interview  betwec-n 
Harriron  and  the  maiden.  This  unhappy  young  man,  always  H 
cieature  of  the  fiercest  impulses,  in  a  moment  of  the  wildest  deii- 
rium  of  that  passion  for  Bess  which  had  so  completely  swallowed 
up  hij  better  judgment,  not  less  than  all  sense  of  high  propriety, 
had  been  guilty,  though  almost  unconscious  at  the  time  of  the  wo- 
ful  error,  of  a  degree  of  espionage,  for  which,  the  moment  after,  ho 
felt  riany  rebukings  of  shame  and  conscience.  Hurried  on,  how- 
evei,  by  the  impetuous  impulse  of  the  passion  so  distracting  him, 
the  fine  sense,  which  should  have  been  an  impassable  barrier,  rising 
up  like  a  wall  in  the  way  of  such  an  act,  had  foregone  its  bett-jj1 
control  for  the  moment,  and  he  hau  lingered  sufficiently  long  under 
cover  to  incur  the  stigma,  as  he  now  certainly  felt  the  shame,  tjf 
having  played  the  part  of  a  spy.  But  his  error  had  its  punishment 
ever  in  its  own  progress.  He  had  seen  that  which  contributed 
still  more  to  increase  his  mortification,  and  to  embitter  his  soul 
aga1  nst  the  more  successful  rival,  whose  felicities  he  had  beheld — 
scarcely  able  to  clench  the  teeth  in  silence  which  laboured  all  the 
while  to  gnash  in  agony.  With  a  cheek  in  which  shame  and  a 
purposeless  fury  alike  showed  themselves,  and  seemed  struggling 
Tor  mastery,  he  now  came  forward  ;  and  approaching  the  maiden, 
addressed  her  as  he  did  so  with  some  common  phrase  of  formal 
cou  lesy,  which  had  the  desired  effect  of  making  her  pause  for 
his  approach.  He  steeled  his  quivering  muscles  into  something 


236  THE   YEMASSEE. 

like  rigidity,  while  a  vain  and  vague  effort  at  a  smile,  like  light 
ning  from  the  cloud,  strove  visibly  upon  his  features. 

"  It  is  not  solitude,  then,"  said  he,  "  that  brings  Miss  Matthews 
into  the  forest.  Its  shelter — its  secrecy  alone,  is  perhaps  its  highest 
recommendation." 

"  What  is  it  that  you  mean,  Master  Grayson,  by  your  words  ?"  re 
plied  the  maiden,  while  something  of  a  blush  tinged  slightly  the 
otherwise  pale  and  lily  complexion  of  her  face. 

"Surely  I  have  spoken  nothing  mysterious.  My  thought  is 
plain  enough,  I  should  think,  were  my  only  evidence  in  the  cheek 
of  Miss  Matthews  herself." 

"  My  cheek  speaks  nothing  for  me,  Master  Grayson,  which  my 
tongue  should  shame  to  utter  ;  and  if  you  have  spoken  simply  in 
reference  to  Gabriel — Master  Harrison  I  mean — you  have  been  at 
much  unnecessary  trouble.  Methinks  too,  there  is  something  m 
your  own  face  that  tells  of  a  misplaced  watchfulness  on  your  part, 
where  your  neighbour  holds  no  watch  to  be  necessary." 

"  You  are  right,  Miss  Matthews — you  are  right.  There  is — 
there  should  be,  at  least — in  my  face,  acknowledgment  enough  of 
the  baseness  which  led  me  as  a  spy  upon  your  path — upon  his 
path !"  replied  the  young  man,  while  his  cheek  grew  once  more 
alternately  from  ashes  to  crimson.  "  It  was  base,  it  was  unmanly 
— but  it  has  had  its  punishment — its  sufficient  punishment,  believe 
me — in  the  discovery  which  it  has  made.  I  have  seen  that,  Miss 
Matthews,  which  I  would  not  willingly  have  seen  ;  and  which  the 
fear  to  see,  alone,  prompted  to  the  accursed  survey.  Pardon  me, 
then— pity  me,  pity  if  you  can — though  I  can  neither  well  pardon 
nor  pity  myself." 

"I  do  pardon  you,  sir — freely  pardon  you — for  an  error  which  I 
should  not  have  thought  it  in  your  nature  intentionally  to  commit ; 
but  what  to  pity  you  for,  saving  for  the  self-reproach  which  must 
come  with  your  consciousness,  I  do  not  so  well  see.  Your  language 
is  singular,  Master  Grayson." 

"  Indeed !  Would  I  could  be  so  blind  !  You  have  not  seen, 
then — you  know  not  ?  Look  at  me,  Miss  Matthews — is  there  no 
madness  in  my  eyes — on  my  tongue — in  look,  word,  action ! 
Have  I  not  raved  in  your  ears — never  ?" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  237 

"No,  as  I  live,  never!"  responded  the  astonished  maiden. 
"Speak  not  in  this  manner,  Master  Grayson — but  leave  me — 
permit  me  to  retire." 

"  What !  you  would  go  to  him  once  more !"  he  uttered  with  a 
sarcastic  grin.  u  You  would  follow  him  ! — Recal  him  !  Hear  me, 
Bess  Matthews.  Do  you  know  him — this  stranger — this  adven 
turer — this  haughty  pretender,  whose  look  is  presumption? 
Would  you  trust  to  him  you  know  not  ?  What  is  he  ?  Can  you 
confide  in  one  whom  nobody  speaks  for — whom  nobody  knows? 

Would  you  throw  yourself  upon  ruin — into  the  arms  of  a  strangei 
a » 

"  Sir,  Master  Grayson — this  is  a  liberty — " 

"  License,  rather,  lady  1  The  license  of  madness  ;  for  I  am  mad, 
though  you  see  it  not — an  abandoned  madman  ;  degraded,  as  you 
have  seen,  and  almost  reckless  of  all  things  and  thoughts,  as  all 
may  see  in  time.  God  !  is  it  not  true  ?  True  it  is,  and  you — 
you,  Bess  Matthews — you  are  the  cause." 

"  I  ? — "  replied  the  maiden,  in  unmixed  astonishment. 

"  Aye,  you.  Hear  me.  I  love — I  loved  you,  Miss  Matthews — 
have  long  loVed  you.  We  have  been  together  almost  from  infancy  ; 
and  I  had  thought — forgive  the  vanity  of  that  thought,  Bess 
Matthews — I  had  thought  that  you  might  not  altogether  have 
been  unkind  to  me.  For  years  I  had  this  thought — did  you  not 
know  it  ? — for  years  I  lived  on  in  the  sweet  hope — the  dear  promise 
which  it  hourly  brought  me — for  years  I  had  no  life,  if  I  had  not 
this  expectation !  In  an  evil  hour  came  this  stranger — thia 
Harrison — it  is  not  long  since — and  from  that  moment  T  trembled. 
It  was  an  instinct  that  taught  me  to  fear,  who  had  never  feared 
before.  I  saw,  yet  dreaded  to  believe  in  what  I  saw.  I  suspected, 
and  shrunk  back  in  terror  from  my  own  suspicions.  But  they 
haunted  me  like  so  many  damned  spectres.  They  were  everywhere 
around  me,  goading  me  to  madness.  In  my  mood,  under  this 
spur,  I  sunk  into  the  spy.  I  became  degraded,— and  saw  all — all ! 
I  saw  his  lip  resting  upon  yours — warmly,  passionately — and 
yours, — yours  grew  to  its  pressure,  Bess  Matthews,  and  did  not 
seek  to  be  withdrawn." 

"No  more  of  this,  faster  Grayson — thou  hast  thought  strange 


2S8  THE    YEMASSEE. 

and  foolish  things,  and  though  they  surprise  me,  I  forgive  tlem — 
T  forgive  thee.  Thou  hadst  no  reason  to  think  that  I  was  more  to 
thee  than  to  a  stranger,  that  I  could  be  more — and  I  feel  not  any 
self-reproach,  for  1  have  done  naught  and  said  naught  which 
could  have  ministered  to  thy  error.  Thy  unwise,  not  to  say  thy 
unbecoming  and  unmanly  curiosity,  Master  Grayson,  makes  me 
the  less  sorry  that  thou  shouldst  know  a  truth  which  thou  findest 
so  painful  to  know." 

"Oh,  be  less  proud — less  stern,  Bess  Matthews.  Thou  hast 
taken  from  this  haughty  stranger  some  of  his  bold  assumption  of 
superiority,  till  thou  even  forgettest  that  erring  affection  may  have 
its  claim  upon  indulgence." 

41  But  not  upon  justice.  I  am  not  proud — thou  dost  me  wrong, 
Master  Grayson,  and  canst  neither  understand  me  nor  the  noble 
gentleman  of  whom  thy  words  are  disrespectful." 

"  And  what  is  he,  that  I  should  respect  him  ?  Am  I  not  as  free 
—  a  man, — an  honest  man — and  what  is  he  more, — even  if  he  be 
so  much  ?  Is  he  more  ready  to  do  and  to  dare  for  thee? — Is  he 
stronger  ?— Will  he  fight  for  thee  ?  Ha !  if  he  will !— " 

"  Thou  shalt  make  me  no  game-prize,  even  in  thy  thought, 
Master  Grayson — and  thy  words  are  less  than  grateful  to  my  ears. 
Will  thou  not  leave  me  ? " 

"Disrespectful  to  him, indeed — a  proud  and  senseless  swaggerer, 
presuming  upon  his  betters.  I — " 

"  Silence,  sir !  think  what  is  proper  to  manhood,  and  try  to 
appear  that  which  thou  art  not,"  exclaimed  the  aroused  maiden, 
in  a  tone  which  completely  startled  her  companion,  while  she 
gathered  herself  up  to  her  fullest  height,  and  waved  him  off  with 
her  hand.  "  Go,  sir — thou  hast  presumed  greatly,  and  thy  words 
are  those  of  a  ruffian,  as  thy  late  conduct  has  been  that  of  the 
hireling  and  the  spy.  Thou  think  that  1  loved  thee ! — that  I 
thought  of  a  spirit  so  ignoble  as  thine; — and  it  is  such  as  thou 
that  wouldst  slander  and  defame  my  Gabriel, — he,  whose  most 
wandering  thought  could  never  compass  the  tithe  of  that  baseness 
which  makes  up  thy  whole  soul." 

.\nd  as  she  spoke  words  of  such  bitter  iinpoi^  her  eye  flashed 
an<j  the  beautiful  lips  curled  in  corresponding  indignation,  while 


THE    YEMASSEE.  238 

her  entire  expression  of  countenance  was  that  of  a  divine  rebuke. 
The  offender  trembled  with  convulsive  and  contradictory  emotions, 
and,  for  a  few  moments  after  her  retort  had  been  uttered,  remained 
utterly  speechless.  He  felt  the  justice  of  her  severity,  though 
every  thought  and  feeling,  in  that  instant,  taught  him  how  un 
equal  he  was  to  sustain  it.  He  had,  in  truth,  spoken  without 
clear  intent,  and  his  language  had  been  in  no  respect  under  the 
dominion  of  reason.  But  he  regained  his  energies  as  he  beheld 
her,  with  an  eye  still  flashing  fire  and  a  face  covered  with  inex 
pressible  dignity,  moving  scornfully  away.  He  recovered,  though 
with  a  manner  wild  and  purposeless — his  hands  and  eyes  lifted 
imploringly — and  chokingly,  thus  addressed  her : — 

"  Leave  me  not — not  in  anger,  Bess  Matthews,  I  implore  you. 
I  have  done  you  wrong — done  him  wrong,  perhaps;  and  T  am 
bitterly  sorry ! — "  it  was  with  a  desperate  rapidity  that  he  uttered 
the  last  passage — "  I  have  spoken  unjustly,  and  like  a  madman. 
But  forgive  me.  Leave  me  not  with  an  unforgiving  thought,  since, 
in  truth,  I  regret  my  error  as  deeply  as  you  can  possibly  reprove  it." 

Proud  and  lofty  in  her  sense  of  propriety,  the  affections  of  Bess 
Matthews  were,  nevertheless,  not  less  gentle  than  her  soul  was 
high.  She  at  once  turned  to  the  speaker,  and  the  prayer  was 
granted  by  her  glance,  ere  her  lips  had  spoken. 

"  I  do — I  do  forgive  thee,  Master  Gray  son,  in  consideration  of 
ihe  time  when  we  were  both  children.  But  thou  hast  said  bitter 
words  in  mine  ear,  which  thou  wilt  not  hold  it  strange  if  I  do  not 
over-soon  forget.  But  doubt  not  that  I  do  forgive  thee ;  and 
pray  thee  for  thy  own  sake — for  thy  good  name,  and  thy  duty  to 
thyself  and  to  the  good  understanding  which  thou  hast,  and  the 
honourable  feeling  which  thou  shouldst  have, — that  thou  err  not 
again  so  sadly.  Greatly  do  I  sorrow  that  thou  shouldst  waste  thy 
thoughts  on  me — thy  affections.  Recover  them,  I  pray  thee,  and 
find  some  one  more  worthy  and  more  willing  to  requite  thy  love," 

He  seized  her  hand  convulsively,  gave  it  a  swift,  hard  pressure, 
then  resigned  it  as  suddenly,  and  exclaimed — 

"  I  thank  thee  !  I  thank  thee ! "  he  rushed  away,  and  was  soon 
buried  from  sight  in  the  adjacent  thicket. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 


man  reason,  ever  confident, 
Holds  its  own  side  —  half  erring  and  half  right  — 
Not  tutored  by  a  sweet.  humility, 
That  else  might  safely  ite«r." 

BRED  up  amid  privation,  and  tutored  as  much  by  its  necessities 
as  by  a  careful  superintendence,  Bess  Matthews  was  a  girl  of 
courage,  not  less  than  of  feeling.  She  could  endure  and  enjoy  ; 
and  the  two  capacities  were  so  happily  balanced  in  her  character, 
that,  while  neither  of  them  invaded  the  authority  of  the  other, 
they  yet  happily  neutralized  any  tendency  to  excess  on  either  side. 
Still,  however,  her  susceptibilities  were  great  ;  for  at  seventeen  the 
affections  are  not  apt  to  endure  much  provocation  ;  and,  deeply 
distressed  with  the  previous  scene,  and  with  that  gentleness  which 
was  her  nature,  she  grieved  sincerely  at  the  condition  of  a  youth,  of 
whom  she  had  heretofore  thought  so  favourably  —  but  not  to  such  a 
degree  as  to  warrant  the  hope  which  he  had  entertained,  and  cer 
tainly  without  having  held  out  to  him  any  show  of  encourage 
ment  —  she  re-entered  her  father's  dwelling,  and  immediately  pro 
ceeded  to  her  chamber.  Though  too  much  excited  by  her  thoughts 
to  enter  with  her  father  upon  the  topic  suggested  by  Harrison,  and 
upon  which  he  had  dwelt  with  such  emphasis,  she  was  yet  strong 
and  calm  enough  for  a  close  self-examination.  Had  she  said  or 
done  anything  which  might  have  misled  Hugh  Grayson  ?  Tins 
was  the  question  which  her  fine  sense  of  justice  not  less  than  of 
maidenly  propriety,-dictated  for  her  answer;  and  with  that  close 
and  calm  analysis  of  her  own  thoughts  and  feelings,  which  must 
always  be  the  result  of  a  due  acquisition  of  just  principles  in 
education,  she  referred  to  all  those  unerring  standards  of  the 
rnmd  which  virtue  and  common  sense  establish,  for  the  satisfaction 
of  her  conscience,  against  those  suggestions  of  doubt  with  which 


THE   YEMASSEE.  241 

ner  feelings  had  assailed  it,  on  the  subject  of  her  relations  with  that 
person.  Her  feelings  grew  more  and  more  composed  as  the  scru 
tiny  progressed,  and  she  rose  at  last  from  the  couch  upon  which  she 
had  thrown  herself,  with  a  heart  lightened  at  least  of  the  care 
which  a  momentary  doubt  of  its  own  propriety  had  inspired. 

There  was  another  duty  to  perform,  which  also  had  its  difficul 
ties.  She  sought  her  father  in  the  adjoining  chamber,  and  if  she 
blushed  in  the  course  of  the  recital,  in  justice  to  maidenly  delicacy, 
she  at  least  did  not  scruple  to  narrate  fully  in  his  ears  all  the 
particulars  of  her  receiu  meeting  with  Harrrison,  with  a  sweet 
regard  to  maidenly  truth.  We  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  she 
dwelt  upon  details,  or  gave  the  questions  and  replies — the  musings 
and  thfj  madnesses  of  the  conversation — for  Bess  had  experience 
enougl-  to  know  that  in  old  ears,  such  matters  are  usually  tedious 
enough  and  in  this  respect,  they  differ  sadly  from  young  ones 
She  IF -de  no  long  story  of  the  meeting,  though  she  freely  told  the 
whole '  and  with  all  her  warmth  and  earnestness,  as  Harrison  had  I 
counselled,  she  proceeded  to  advise  her  father  of  the  dangers  from 
the  Indians,  precisely  as  her  lover  had  counselled  herself. 

1lie  old  man  heard,  and  was  evidently  less  than  satisfied  with 
the  frequency  with  which  the  parties  met.  He  had  not  denied 
Be^s  this  privilege — he  was.  not  stern  enough  for  that;  and, 
possibly,  knowing  his  daughter's  character  not  less  than  her  heart, 
he  was  by  no  means  unwilling  to  confide  freely  in  her.  But  still 
he  exhorted,  in  good  set  but  general  language,  rather  against 
Harrison  than  with  direct  reference  to  the  intimacy  between  the 
two.  He  gave  his  opinion  on  that  subject  too,  unfavourably  to  the 
habit,  though  without  uttering  any  distinct  command.  As  he 
went  on  and  warmed  with  his  own  eloquence,  his  help-mate, — an 
excellent  old  lady,  who  loved  her  daughter  too  well  to  see  her 
tears  and  be  silent — joined  freely  in  the  discourse,  and  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  question  :  so  that,  on  a  small  scale,  we  are 
favoured  with  the  glimpse  of  a  domestic  flurry,  a  slight  summer 
gust,  which  ruffles  to  compose,  and  irritates  to  smoothe  and  pacify. 
Rough  enough  for  a  little  while,  it  was  happily  of  no  great  con 
tinuance  ;  for  the  old  people  had  lived  too  long  together,  and  were 
quite  too  much  dependent  on  their  mutual  sympathies,  to  suffer 

I 


242  THE    YEMASSEE. 

themselves  to  play  long  at  cross  purposes.  In  ceasing  to  squabble, 
however,  Mrs.  Matthews  gave  up  no  point ;  and  was  too  much 
interested  in  the  present  subject  readily  to  forego  the  argument 
upon  it.  She  differed  entirely  from  her  husband  with  regard  to 
Harrison,  and  readily  sided  with  her  daughter  in  favouring  his 
pretensions.  He  had  a  happy  and  singular  knack  of  endearing 
himself  to  most  people ;  and  the  very  levity  which  made  him 
distasteful  to  the  pastor,  was,  strange  to  say,  one  of  the  chief 
influences  which  commended  him  to  his  lady. 

"  Bess  is  wrong,  my  dear,"  at  length  said  the  pastor,  in  a  tone 
H.nd  manner  meant  to  be  conclusive  on  the  subject — "  Bess  is 
wrong — decidedly  wrong.  We  know  nothing  of  Master  Harrison 
-—neither  of  his  family  nor  of  his  pursuits — and  she  should  not 
•jncourage  him." 

"  Bess  is  right,  Mr.  Matthews,"  responded  the  old  lady,  with  a 
doggedness  of  manner  meant  equally  to  close  the  controversy,  a? 
she  wound  upon  her  fingers,  from  a  little  skreel  in  her  lap,  a  small 
volume  of  the  native  silk.* — "  Bess  is  right — Captain  Harrison  u 
:i  nice  gentleman — always  so  lively,  always  so  polite,  and  so  pleas 
ant.  I  declare,  I  don't  see  why  you  don't  like  him,  and  it  must  b* 
mly  because  you  love  to  go  against  all  other  people." 

*  The  culture  of  silk  was  commenced  in  South  Carolina  as  far  back  a 
the  year  1702,  and  thirteen  years  before  the  date  of  this  narrative.  I 
was  introduced  by  Sir  .Nathaniel  Johnston,  then  holding  the  government  o 
the  province  under  the  lords  proprietors.  This  gentleman,  apart  from  hi 
own  knowledge  of  the  susceptibility,  for  its  production,  of  that  regioL 
derived  a  stimulus  to  the  prosecution  of  the  enterprise  from  an  exceedin,, 
threat  demand  then  prevailing  in  England  for  the  article.  Thespontuneou 
.and  free  growth  of  the  mulberry  in  all  parts  of  the  southern  country  firs* 
led  to  the  idea  that  silk  might  be  made  an  important  item  in  the  irnprov 
ing  list  of  its  products.  For  a  time  he  had  every  reason  to  calculate  upon 
the  entire  success  of  the  experiment,  but  after  a  while,  the  pursuit  not  be 
coming  immediately  productive,  did  not  consort  with  the  impatient  natun. 
of  the  southrons,  and  was  given  over — when  perhaps  wanting  but  littlt 
o  complete  success.  The  experiment,  however,  was  proseculed  sufficienth 
long  to  show,  though  it  did  not  become  an  object  of  national  importance 
how  much  might,  with  proper  energy,  be  done  towards  making  it  such.  01 
late  days,  a  new  impulse  has  been  given  to  the  trial,  and  considerable  quan 
titles  of  silk  are  annually  made  in  the  middle  country  of  South  Carolina. 


THE   YEMASSEE.  24.3 

"  And  so,  my  dear,"  gently  enough  responded  tlie  pastor,  "  you 
would  have  Bess  married  to  a — nobody  knows  who  or  what."  , 

"  Why,  dear  me,  John — what  is  it  you  don't  know  ?  I'm  sure 
I  know  everything  I  want  to  know  about  the  captain.  His  name's 
Harrison — and — " 

"  What  more  ? "  inquired  the  pastor  with  a  smile,  seeing  that 
the  old  lady  had  finished  her  silk  and  speech  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Why  nothing,  John — but  what  we  do  know,  you  will  admit, 
is  highly  creditable  to  him ;  and  so,  I  do  not  see  why  you  should 
be  so  quick  to  restrain  the  young  people,  when  we  can  so  easily 
require  to  know  all  that  is  necessary  before  we  consent,  or  any 
decisive  step  is  taken." 

"  But,  my  dear,  the  decisive  step  is  taken  when  the  affections  of 
our  daughter  are  involved." 

The  old  lady  could  say  nothing  to  this,  but  she  had  her  word. 

"  He  is  such  a  nice,  handsome  gentleman,  John." 

"  Handsome  is  as  handsome  does ! "  sneered  the  pastor,  through 
a  homely  proverb. 

"  Well,  but  John,  he's  in  no  want  of  substance.  He  has  money, 
good  gold  in  plenty,  for  I've  seen  it  myself — and  I'm  sure  that's  a 
sight  for  sore  eyes,  after  we've  been  looking  so  long  at  the  brown 
paper  that  the  Assembly  have  been  printing,  and  which  they  call 
money.  Gold  now  is  money,  John,  and  Captain  Harrison  always 
has  it." 

"  It  would  be  well  to  know  where  it  comes  from,"  doggedly 
inuttered  the  pastor. 

"  Oh,  John,  John — where's  all  your  religion  ?  How  can  you 
talk  so  ?  You  are  only  vexed  now — I'm  certain  that's  it — because 
Master  Harrison  won't  satisfy  your  curiosity." 

"  Elizabeth  1" 

"  Well,  don't  be  angry  now,  John.  I  didn't  mean  that  exactly, 
but  really  you  are  so  uncharitable.  It's  neither  sensible  nor 
Christian  in  you.  Why  will  you  be  throwing  up  hills  upon  hills 
in  the  way  of  Bess's  making  a  good  match  ? " 

"  Is  it  a  good  match,  Elizabeth  ? — that  is  the  very  poinl  viuch 
makes  me  firm." 

u  Stubborn,  you  mean." 


244  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Well,  perhaps  so,  Elizabeth,  but  stubborn  I  will  be  until  it  ii 
shown  to  be  a  good  match,  and  then  he  may  have  her  with  all  my 
heart.  It  is  true,  I  love  not  his  smart  speeches,  which  are  some 
times  quite  too  free ;  and  not  reverend  and  scarcely  respectlul. 
But  1  shall  not  mind  that,  if  I  can  find  out  certainly  who  he  is, 
and  that  he  comes  of  good  family,  and  does  nothing  disreputable. 
Ke member,  Elizabeth,  we  come  of  good  family  ourselves — old 
.England  can't  show  a  better ;  and  we  must  be  careful  to  do  it  no 
discredit  by  a  connection  for  our  child." 

"  That  is  all  true  and  very  sensible,  Mr.  Matthews,  and  I  agree 
with  you  whenever  you  talk  to  the  point.  Now  you  will  admit,  I 
think,  that  I  know  when  a  gentleman  is  a  gentleman,  and  when 
he  is  not — and  I  tell  you  that  if  Master  Harrison  is  not  a  gentle 
man,  then  give  me  up,  and  don't  mind  my  opinion  again.  I  don't 
want  spectacles  to  see  that  he  comes  of  good  family  and  is  a 
gentleman.'* 

"  Yes,  your  opinion  may  be  right ;  but  still  it  is  opinion  only — 
not  evidence ;  and,  if  it  be  wrong — what  then  ?  The  evil  will  be 
past  remedy." 

"  it  can't  be  wrong.  When  I  look  upon  him,  I'm  certain — so 
graceful  and  polite,  and  then  his  dignity  and  good-breeding." 

"  Good-breeding,  indeed  !"  and  this  exclamation  the  pastor  ac 
companied  with  a  most  irreverend  chuckle,  which  had  in  it  a  touch 
of  bitterness.  "  Go  to  your  chamber,  Bess,  my  dear,"  he  said  turn 
ing  to  his  daughter,  who,  sitting  in  a  corner  rather  behind  her 
mother,  with  head  turned  downwards  to  the  floor,  had  heard  the 
preceding  dialogue  with  no  little  interest  and  disquiet.  She  obeyed 
the  mandate  in  silence,  and  when  she  had  gone,  the  old  man 
resumed  his  exclamation. 

"  Good-breeding,  indeed  !  when  he  told  me,  to  my  face,  that  he 
would  have  Bess  in  spite  of  my  teeth." 

The  old  lady  now  chuckled  in  earnest,  and  the  pastor's  brow 
gloomed  accordingly. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  John,  that  only  shows  a  fine-spirited  fellow. 
Now,  as  1  live,  if  I  were  a  young  man,  in  the  same  way,  and  were 
to  be  crossed  after  this  fashion,  I'd  say  the  same  thing.  That  I 
would.  I  tell  you,  John,  I  see  no  harm  in  it,  and  my  memory's 


THE     YEMASSEE.  245 

good,  John   that  you  had  some  of  the  same  spirit  in  our  young 


"  Your  memory's  quite  too  good,  Elizabeth,  and  the  less  you  let 
*'t  travel  back  the  better  for  both  of  us,"  was  the  somewhat  grave 
response.  "  But  I  have  something  to  say  of  young  ilugh — Hugh 
Grayson,  I  mean.  Hugh  really  loves  Bess — I'm  certain  quite  as 
much  as  your  Captain  Harrison.  Now,  we  know  him  ?" 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  of  Hugh  Grayson,  Mr.  Matthews — for  it's 
no  use.  Bess  don't  care  a  straw  for  him." 

"  A  fine,  sensible  young  man,  very  smart,  and  likely  to  do 
well." 

"  A  sour,  proud  upstart — idle  and  sulky — who  does  nothing, 
though,  as  we  all  know,  he's  got  nothing  in  the  world." 

"  lias  your  Harrison  any  more  ?" 

"  And  if  he  hasn't,  John  Matthews — let  mo  tell  you  at  least 
he's  a  very  different  person  from  Hugh  Grayson,  besides  being 
born  and  bred  a  gentleman." 

"  I'd  like  to  know,  Elizabeth,  how  you  come  at  that  fact,  that 
you  speak  it  so  confidently." 

"  Leave  a  woman  alone  for  finding  out  a  gentleman  bred  from 
one  that  is  not;  it  don't  want  study  and  witnesses  to  tell  the  dif 
ference  betwixt  them.  We  can  tell  at  a  glance." 

"  Indeed  !  But  I  see  it's  of  no  use  to  talk  with  you  now.  You 
are  bent  on  having  things  all  your  own  way.  As  for  the  man,  I 
believe  you  are  almost  as  much  in  love  with  him  as  your  daughter." 
And  this  was  said  with  a  smile  meant  for  compromise ;  but  the  old 
lady  went  on  gravely  enough  for  earnest. 

"  And  it's  enough  to  make  me,  John,  when  you  are  running  him 
down  from  morning  to  night,  though  you  know  we  don't  like  it. 
But  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  His  advice  is  good,  and  he 
certainly  means  it  for  our  safety.  Will  you  do  as  Bess  said,  and  shall 
we  go  to  the  Block  House,  till  the  Indians  become  quiet  again  ?" 

"  His  advice,  indeed !  You  help  his  plans  wondrously.  But  1 
see  through  his  object  if  you  do  not.  He  only  desires  us  at  the 
Block  House,  in  order  to  be  more  with  Bess  than  he  possibly  can 
be  at  present.  He  is  always  there,  or  in  the  neighbourhood." 

"And  you  are  sure,  John,  there's  no  danger  from  the  Indians?" 


246  THE     YEMASSEE. 

"  None,  none  in  the  world.  They  are  as  quiet  as  they  well  oan 
be,  under  the  repeated  invasion  of  their  grounds  by  the  borderers, 
who  are  continually  hunting  in  their  woods.  By  the  way,  T  must 
speak  to  young  Grayson  on  the  subject.  lie  is  quite  too  frequently 
over  the  bounds,  and  they  like  him  not." 

"Well,  well— but  this  insurrection,  John?" 

"Was  a  momentary  commotion,  suppressed  instantly  by  the  old 
chief  Sanutee,  who  is  friendly  to  us,  and  whom  they  have  just 
made  their  great  chief,  or  king,  in  place  of  Iluspah,  whom  they 
deposed.  Were  they  unkindly  disposed,  they  would  have  destroyed, 
and  not  have  saved,  the  Commissioners." 

"But  Harrison  knows  a  deal  more  of  the  Indians  than  any 
body  else ;  and  then  they  say  that  Sanutee  himself  drove  Granger 
out  of  Pocota-ligo." 

"  Harrison  says  more  than  he  can  unsay,  and  pretends  to  more 
than  he  can  ever  know ;  and  I  heed  not  his  opinion.  As  for  the 
expulsion  of  Granger,  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"I  wish,  John,  you  would  not  think  so  lightly  of  Harrison. 
You  remember  he  saved  us  when  the  Coosaws  broke  out.  His 
management  did  every  thing  then.  Now,  don't  let  your  ill  opinion 
of  the  man  stand  in  the  way  of  proper  caution.  Remember,  John, 
— your  wife — your  child." 

"  I  do,  Elizabeth ;  but  you  are  growing  a  child  yourself." 

•4  You  don't  mean  to  say  I'm  in  my  dotage  ?"  said  the  old  larly, 
quickly  and  sharply. 

"No,  no,  not  that,"  and  he  smiled  for  an  instant — "only,  that 
your  timidity  does  not  suit  your  experience.  But  I  have  thought 
seriously  on  the  subject  of  this  threatened  outbreak,  and,  for 
myself,  can  see  nothing  to  fear  from  the  Yemassees.  There  is 
nothing  to  justify  these  suspicions  of  Master  Harrison.  On  the 
contrary,  they  have  not  only  always  been  friendly  heretofore,  but 
they  appear  friendly  now.  Several  of  them,  as  you  know,  have 
professed  to  me  a  serious  conviction  of  the  truth  of  those  divine 
lessons  which  I  have  taught  them  ;  and  when  I  know  this,  it  would 
be  a  most  shameful  desertion  of  my  duty  were  I  to  doubt  those 
solemn  avowals  which  they  have  made,  through  my  poor  instru 
mentality,  to  the  Deity." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  247 

"Well,  John,  I  hope  you  are  right,  and  that  Harrison  is  wrong, 
though,  I  confess,  I'm  dubious.  To  God  I  leave  it  to  keep  us  from 
evil :  in  his  hands  there  are  peace  and  safety." 

"  Amen,  amen !"  fervently  responded  the  pastor,  as  he  spoke  to 
his  retiring  dame,  who,  gathering  up  her  working  utensils,  was 
about  to  pass  into  the  adjoining  chamber ;  but  lingered,  as  the 
Parson  followed  her  with  a  few  more  last  words. 

"  Amen,  Elizabeth — though,  I  must  say,  the  tone  of  your 
expressed  reliance  upon  God  has  still  in  it  much  that  is  doubting 
and  unconfiding.  Let  us  add  to  the  prayer  one  for  a  better  mood 
along  with  the  better  fortune." 

IJere  the  controversy  ended;  the  old  lady,  as  her  husband 
alleged,  still  unsatisfied,  and  the  preacher  himself  not  altogether 
assured  in  his  own  mind  that  a  lurking  feeling  of  hostility  to 
Harrison,  rather  than  a  just  sense  of  his  security,  had  not  deter 
mined  him  to  risk  the  danger  from  the  Indians,  in  preference  to  ft 
bettei  hope  of  security  in  the  shelter  of  the  Block  House. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

*  1  must  dare  all  myselt.    1  cannot  dare 
Avoid  the  danger.    There  is  m  my  soul, 
That  which  may  look  on  death,  but  not  on 

As  soon  as  his  interview  was  over  with  Bess  Matthews,  Harrisoa 
hurried  back  to  the  Block  House.  He  there  received  intelligence 
confirming  that  which  she  had  given  him,  concerning  the  move 
ments  of  Chorley  and  his  craft.  The  strange  vessel  had  indeed 
taken  up  anchors  and  changed  her  position.  Availing  herself  of 
a  favouring  breeze,  she  had  ascended  the  river,  a  few  miles  nigher 
to  the  settlements  of  the  Yemassees,  and  now  lay  fronting  the  left 
wing  of  the  pastor's  cottage ; — the  right  of  it,  as  it  stood  upon  the 
jutting  tongue  of  land  around  which  wound  the  river,  she  had 
before  fronted  from  below.  The  new  position  could  only  have 
been  chosen  for  the  facility  of  intercourse  with  the  Indians,  which, 
from  the  lack  of  a  good  lauding  on  this  side  of  the  fiver,  had  been 
wanting  to  her  where  she  originally  lay.  In  addition  to  this 
intelligence.  Harrison  learned  that  which  still  further  quickeneu 
nis  anxieties.  The  wife  of  Granger,  a  woman  of  a  calm,  stern, 
energetic  disposition,  who  had  been  something  more  observant  than 
her  husband,  informed  him  that  there  had  been  a  considerable 
intercourse  already  between  the  vessel  and  the  Indians  since  her 
remove — that  their  boats  had  been  around  her  constantly  during 
the  morning,  and  that  boxes  and  packages  of  sundry  kinds  had 
been  carried  from  her  to  the  shore  ;  individual  Indians,  too,  had 
been  distinguished  walking  her  decks ;  a  privilege  which,  it  was 
well  known,  had  been  denied  to  the  whites,  who  had  not  been 
permitted  the  slightest  intercourse  with  the  stranger.  All  this 
confirmed  the  already  active  apprehensions  of  Harrison.  He  could 
no  longer  doubt  of  her  intentions,  or  of  the  intentions  of  the 
Yeinassees ;  yet,  how  to  proceed — how  to  prepare — on  whom  to 


THE    YEMASSEE.  249 

rely — in  what  quarter  to  look  for  the  attack,  and  what  was  the 
extent  of  the  proposed  insurrection  ? — was  it  partial,  or  general  ? 
Did  it  include  the  Indian  nations  generally — twenty-eight  of  which, 
at  that  time,  occupied  the  Carolinas — or  was  it  confined  to  the 
Yemassees  and  Spaniards?  and  if  the  latter  were  concerned,  were 
they  to  be  looked  for  in  force,  and  whether  by  land  or  by  sea  ? 
These  were  the  multiplied  questions,  and  to  resolve  them  was  the 
great  difficulty  in  the  way  of  Harrison.  That  there  were  now 
la-rge  grounds  for  suspicion,  he  could  no  longer  doubt ;  but  how  to 
proceed  in  arousing  the  people,  and  whether  it  were  necessary  to 
arouse  the  colony  at  large,  or  only  that  portion  of  it  more  imme 
diately  in  contact  with  the  Indians — and  how  to  inform  them  in 
time  for  the  crisis  which  he  now  felt  was  at  hand,  and  which  might 
involve  the  fate  of  the  infant  colony — all  depended  upon  the 
correctness  of  his  acquired  information ; — and  yet  his  fugitive  spy 
came  not  back,  sent  no  word,  and  might  have  betrayed  his  mission. 
The  doubts  grew  with  their  contemplation.  The  more  he  thought 
of  the  recent  Yemassee  discontents,  the  more  he  dreaded  to  think. 
Lie  knew  that  this  discontent  was  not  confined  to  the  Yemassee, 
but  extended  even  to  the  waters  of  the  Keowee  and  to  the  Apala- 
chian  mountains.  The  Indians  had  suffered  on  all  sides  from  the 
obtrusive  borderers,  and  had  been  treated,  he  felt  conscious,  with 
less  than  respect  and  justice  by  the  provincial  government  itself. 
But  a  little  time  before,  the  voluntary  hostages  of  the  Cherokees 
had  been  entertained  with  indignity  and  harshness  by  the  Assembly 
of  Carolina ;  having  been  incarcerated  in  a  dungeon,  under  cruel 
circumstances  of  privation,  which  the  Cherokees  at  large  did  not 
appear  to  feel  in  a  less  degree  than  the  suffering  hostages  them 
selves,  and  were  pacified  with  extreme  difficulty.  The  full  array 
of  these  circumstances,  to  the  mind  of  Ilarrison,  satisfied  him  of  the 
utter  senselessness  of  any  confidence  in  that  friendly  disposition  of 
the  natives,  originally  truly  felt,  but  which  had  been  so  repeatedly 
abused  as  to  be  no  longer  entertained,  or  only  entertained  as  a  mask 
to  shelter  feelings  directly  opposite  in  character.  The  increasing 
consciousness  of  danger,  and  the  failure  of  Occonestoga,  on  whose 
intelligence  he  had  so  greatly  depended,  momentarily  added  to  his 
*i*quiet,  by  leaving  him  entirelv  at  a  loss,  as  to  the  time,  direction. 

11* 


250  THE    YEMASSEE. 

and  character  of  that  danger,  which  it  had  been  his  wish  and 
province  to  provide  against.  Half  soliloquizing  as  he  thought,  and 
half  addressing  Granger,  who  stood  beside  him  in  the  upper  and 
habitable  room  of  the  Block  House,  the  anxieties  of  Harrison  found 
their  way  to  his  lips. 

"Bad  enough,  Granger — and  yet  what  to  do — how  to  move — for 
there's  little  use  in  moving  without  a  purpose.  We  can  do  nothing 
without  intelligence,  and  that  we  must  have  though  we  die  for  it. 
We  must  seek  and  find  out  their  aim,  their  direction,  their  force, 
and  what  they  depend  upon.  If  they  come  alone  we  can  manage 
them,  unless  they  scatter  simultaneously  upon  various  points  and 
take  us  by  surprise,  and  this,  if  I  mistake  not,  will  be  their  course. 
But  I  fear  this  sailor-fellow  brings  them  an  ugly  coadjutor  in  the 
power  of  the  Spaniard.  He  comes  from  St.  Augustine  evidently ; 
and  may  bring  them  men — a  concealed  force,  and  this  accounts  for 
his  refusal  to  admit  any  of  our  people  on  board.  The  boxes  too, — 
did  you  mark  them  well,  Granger  ?" 

"  As  well  as  I  might,  sir,  from  the  Chief's  Bluff." 

"  And  what  might  they  contain,  think  you  ?" 

"  Goods  and  wares,  sir,  I  doubt  not :  blankets  perhaps — " 

"  Or  muskets  and  gunpowder.  Your  thoughts  run  upon  nothing 
but  stock  in  trade,  and  the  chance  of  too  much  competition.  Now, 
is  it  not  quite  as  likely  that  those  boxes  held  hatchets,  and  knives, 
and  fire-arms  ?  Were  they  not  generally  of  one  size  and  shape — 
long,  narrow — eh  ?  Did  you  note  that  ?" 

"  They  were,  my  lord,  all  of  one  size,  as  you  described  them.  1 
saw  that  myself,  and  so  I  said  to  Richard,  but  he  did  not  mind." 

Thus  spoke  the  wife  of  Granger,  in  reply  to  the  question  which 
had  been  addressed  to  her  husband. 

"  Did  you  speak  to  me  ?"  was  the  stern  response  of  Harrison,  in 
a  tone  of  voice  and  severity  not  usually  employed  by  the  speaker, 
accompanying  his  speech  by  a  keen  penetrating  glance,  which, 
passing  alternately  from  husband  to  wife,  seemed  meant  to  go 
through  them  both. 

o 

"  I  did  speak  to  you,  sir, — and  you  will  forgive  me  for  having 
addressed  any  other  than  Captain  Harrison,"  she  replied,  compos 
edly  and  calmly,  though  in  a  manner  meant  to  conciliate  and  ex- 


.THE    YEMASSEE.  251 

cuse  the  inadvertence  of  which  she  had  been  guilty  in  conferring 
upon  him  a  title  which  in  that  region  it  seemed  his  policy  to  avoid. 
Then,  as  she  beheld  that  his  glance  continued  to  rest  in  rebuke 
upon  the  shrinking  features  of  her  husband,  she  proceeded  thus — 

"  You  will  forgive  him  too,  sir,  I  pray  you  ;  but  it  is  not  so  easy 
for  a  husband  to  keep  any  secret  from  his  wife,  and  least  of  all, 
such  as  that  which  concerns  a  person  who  has  provoked  so  much 
interest  in  us  all." 

"  You  are  adroit,  mistress,  and  your  husband  owes  you  much. 
A  husband  does  find  it  difficult  to  keep  any  thing  secret  from  his 
wife  but  his  own  virtues ;  and  of  these  she  seldom  dreams.  But 
pray,  when  was  this  wonderful  revelation  made  to  you?" 

"  You  were  known  to  me,  sir,  ever  since  the  Foresters  made  you 
captain,  just  after  the  fight  with  the  Coosaws  at  Tulifinnee 
Swamp." 

"  Indeed !"  was  the  reply ;  "  well,  my  good  dame,  you  have  had 
my  secret  long  enough  to  keep  it  now.  I  am  persuaded  you  can 
keep  it  better  than  your  husband.  How  now,  Granger !  you  would 
be  a  politician  too,  and  I  am  to  have  the  benefit  of  your  counsels, 
and  you  would  share  mine.  Is't  not  so — and  yet,  you  would  fly 
to  your  chamber,  and  share  them  with  a  tongue,  which,  in  the 
better  half  of  the  sex,  would  wag  it  on  every  wind,  from  swamp  to 
sea,  until  all  points  of  the  compass  grew  wiser  upon  it." 

"  Why,  captain,"  replied  the  trader,  half  stupidly,  half  apologe 
tically — "  Moll  is  a  close  body  enough." 

"  So  is  not  Moll's  worser  half,"  was  the  reply.  "But  no  more  of 
this  folly.  There  is  much  for  both  of  us  to  do,  and  not  a  little  for 
you  in  particular,  if  you  will  do  it." 

"  Speak,  sir,  I  will  do  much  for  you,  captain." 

"  And  for  good  pay.  This  it  is.  You  must  to  the  Yemassees — 
to  Pocota-ligo — see  what  they  do,  find  out  what  they  design,  and 
look  after  Occonestoga — are  you  ready  ?" 

"It  were  a  great  risk,  captain,  at  this  time." 

"  Why,  true,  and  life  itself  is  a  risk.  We  breathe  not  an  in 
stant  without  hazard  of  its  loss,  and  a  plumstone,  to  an  open 
mouth  at  dinner,  is  quite  as  perilous  as  the  tenth  bullet.  Sleep  is 
and  one  presses  not  his  pillow  o'riights,  without  a  prayer 


252  THE    YEMASSEE. 

against  eternity  before  morning.  Show  me  the  land  where  we 
risk  nothing,  and  I  will  risk  all  to  get  there." 

"  It's  as  much  as  my  life's  worth,  captain." 

"  Psha !  we  can  soon  count  up  that.  Thou  art  monstrous  fond 
of  thy  carcass,  now,  and  by  this  I  know  thou  art  growing  wealthy. 
We  shall  add  to  thy  gains,  if  thou  wilt  go  on  this  service.  The 
Assembly  will  pay  thce  well,  as  they  have  done  before.  Thou 
hast  not  lost  by  its  service." 

"  Nothing,  sir — but  have  gained  greatly.  In  moderate  adven 
ture,  I  am  willing  to  serve  them  now ;  but  not  in  this.  The  Ye- 
massees  were  friendly  enough  then,  and  so  was  Sanutee.  It  is  differ 
ent  now,  and  all  the  favour  I  could  look  for  from  the  old  chief, 
would  be  a  stroke  of  his  hatchet,  to  save  me  from  fire-torture." 

"  But  why  talk  of  detection  ?  I  do  not  desire  that  thou 
shouldst  allow  thyself  to  be  taken.  Think  you,  when  I  go  into 
battle,  the  thought  of  being  shot  ever  troubles  me?  No.  If  I 
thought  that,  I  should  not  perhaps  go.  My  only  thought  is  how 
to  shoot  others  ;  and  you  should  think,  in  this  venture,  not  of 
your  own,  but  the  danger  of  those  around  you.  You  are  a  good 
Indian  hunter,  and  have  practised  all  their  arts.  -Take  the  swamp 
— hug  the  tree — line  the  thicket — see  and  hear,  nor  shout  till 
you  are  out  of  the  wood.  There's  no  need  to  thrust  your  nose 
into  the  Indian  kettles." 

"  It  might  be  done,  captain ;  but  if  caught,  it  would  be  so 
much  the  worse  for  me.  I  can't  think  of  it,  sir." 

"  Caught  indeed  !  A  button  for  the  man  who  prefers  fear  rather 
than  hope.  Will  not  a  hundred  pounds  teach  thee  reason  ? 
Look,  man,  it  is  here  with  thy  wife — will  that  not  move  thee  to  it." 

"Not  five  hundred,  captain, — not  five  hundred,"  replied  the 
trader,  decisively.  "  I  know  too  well  the  danger,  and  shan't  for 
get  the  warning  which  old  Sanutee  gave  me.  I've  seen  enough 
of  it  to  keep  me  back ;  and  though  I  am  willing  to  do  a  great 
deal,  captain,  for  you  as  well  as  the  Assembly,  without  any 
reward,  as  I  have  often  done  before, — for  you  have  all  done  a 
great  deal  for  me — yet  it  were  death,  and  a  horrible  death,  for 
me  to  undertake  this.  I  must  not — I  do  not  say  I  wjll  not — but 
in  truth  I  cannot — I  dare  not" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  265 

Thus  had  the  dialogue  between  Harrison  and  the  trader  gon? 
on  for  some  time,  the  former  urging  and  the  latter  refusing.  The 
wife  of  the  latter  all  the  while  had  looked  on,  and  listened  in 
silence,  almost  unnoticed  by  either,  but  her  countenance  during 
the  discussion  was  full  of  eloquent  speech.  The  colour  in  her 
cheeks  now  came  and  went,  her  eye  sparkled,  her  lip  quivered, 
and  she  moved  to  and  fro,  with  emotion  scarcely  suppressed,  until 
her  husband  came  to  his  settled  conclusion  not  to  go,  as  above 
narrated,  when  she  boldly  advanced  between  him  and  Harrison, 
and  with  her  eye  settling  somewhat  scornfully  upon  him,  where  he 
stood,  she  thus  addressed  him : — 

,  "Now  out  upon  thee,  Richard,  for  a  mean  spirit.  Thou 
wouldst  win  money  only  when  the  game  is  easy  and  all  thine 
own.  Hast  thou  not  had  the  pay  of  the  Assembly,  time  upon 
time,  and  for  little  risk?  and  because  the  risk 'is  now  greater, 
wilt  thou  hold  back  like  a  man  having  no  heart  ?  I  shame  to 
think  of  what  thou  hast  spoken.  But  the  labour  and  the  risk 
thou  fearest  shall  be  mine.  I  fear  not  the  savages — I  know  their 
arts  and  can  meet  them,  and  so  couldst  thou,  Granger,  did  thy 
own  shadow  not  so  frequently  beset  thee  to  scare.  Give  me  the 
charge  which  thou  hast,  captain — and,  Granger,  touch  not  the 
pounds.  Thou  wilt  keep  them,  my  lord,  for  other  service.  I  will 
go  without  the  pay." 

"  Thou  shalt  not,  Moll — thou  shalt  not,"  cried  the  trader,  inter 
posing. 

"  But  I  will,  Richard,  and  thou  knowest  I  will  when  my  lips 
have  said  it.  If  there  be  danger,  I  have  no  children  to  feel  my 
want,  and  it  is  but  my  own  life,  and  even  its  loss  might  save 
many." 

"  Moll — Moll !"  exclaimed  the  trader,  half  entreating,  half  com 
manding  in  his  manner,  but  she  heeded  him  not. 

"  And  now,  my  lord,  the  duty.     What  is  to  be  done  ?" 

Harrison  looked  on  as  she  spoke,  in  wonder  and  admiration,  then 
replied,  warmly  seizing  her  hand  as  he  did  so  : 

"  Now,  by  heaven,  woman,  but  thou  hast  a  soul — a  noble,  strong> 
manly  soul,  such  as  would  shame  thousands  of  the  more  presump 
tuous  sex.  But  thy  husband  has  said  right  in  this,  Thou  shalt 


254  THE    YEMASSEE. 

not  go,  and  thy  words  have  well  taught  me  that  the  task  should 
be  mine  own." 

"  What  1  my  lord,"  exclaimed  both  the  trader  an<l  his  wife— 
"  thou  wilt  not  trust  thy  person  in  their  hands  ?" 

"  No — certainly  not.  Not  if  I  can  help  it — bnt  whatever  be 
the  risk  that  seems  so  great  to  all,  I  should  not  seek  to  hazard  the 
lives  of  others,  where  my  own  is  as  easily  come  at,  and  where  my 
own  is  the  greater  stake.  So,  Granger,  be  at  rest  for  thyself  and 
wife.  I  put  thyself  first  in  safety,  where  I  know  thou  wishest 
it.  For  thee — thou  art  a  noble  woman,  and  thy  free  proffer  of 
service  is  indeed  good  service  this  hour  to  mo,  since  it  brings  me 
to  recollect  my  own  duty.  The  hundred  pounds  are  thine,  Gran 
ger  !" 

"My  lord  I" 

"  No  lording,  man — no  more  of  that,  but  hear  me.  In  a  few 
hours,  and  with  the  dusk,  I  shall  be  oft'.  See  that  you  keep  good 
watch  when  I  am  gone,  for  the  Block  House  will  be  the  place  of 
retreat  for  our  people  in  the  event  of  commotion,  and  will  there 
fore  most  likely  be  a  point  of  attack  with  the  enemy.  Several 
have  been  already  warned,  and  will  doubtless  be  here  by  night. 
Be  certain  you  know  whom  you  admit.  Grimstead  and  Grayson, 
with  several  of  the  foresters,  will  come  with  their  families,  and 
with  moderate  caution  you  can  make  your  defence.  No  more." 

Thus  counselling,  and  directing  some  additional  preparations  to 
the  trader  and  his  wife,  he  called  for  Hector,  who,  a  moment  after, 
made  his  appearance,  as  if  hurried  away  from  a  grateful  employ, 
with  a  mouth  greased  from  ear  to  ear,  and  a  huge  mass  of  fat 
bacon  still  clutched  tenaciously  between  his  fingers. 

"  Hector  1" 

"  Sa,  maussa." 

"  Hast  fed  Dugdale  to-day  T 

"  Jist  done  feed  'em,  maussa." 

"  See  that  you  give  him  nothing  more — and  get  the  horse  in 
readiness.  I  go  up  the  river-trace  by  the  night." 

"  He  done,  maussa,  as  you  tell  me :"  and  the  black  retired  to 
finish  the  meal,  in  the  enjoyment  of  which  he  had  been  interrupted. 
At  dusk,  under  the  direction  of  his  master — who  now  appeared 


THE"  YEMASSEE.  255 

gallantly  mounted  upon  his  noble  steed — Hector  led  Dugdale 
behind  him  to  the  entrance  of  a  little  wood,  where^the  river-trace 
began  upon  which  his  master  was  going.  Alighting  from  his 
horse,  Harrison  played  for  a  few  moments  with  the  strong  and 
favourite  dog,  and  thrusting  his  hand,  among  other  things,  down 
the  now  and  then  extended  jaws  of  the  animal,  he  seemed  to  prac 
tise  a  sport  to  which  he  was  familiar.  After  this,  he  made  the 
negro  put  Dugdale's  nose  upon  the  indented  track,  and  then  in 
structed  him,  in  the  event  of  his  not  returning  by  the  moon-rise, 
to  unmuzzle  and  place  him  upon  the  trace  at  the  point  he  was 
leaving.  This  done,  he  set  off  at  a  rapid  pace,  Dugdale  vainly 
struggling  to  follow  close  upon  his  footsteps. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

"  School  that  fierce  passion  down,  ere  it  unman, 
Era  it  o'erthrow  thee.     Thou  art  on  a  height 
Most  perilous,  and  beneath  thee  spreads  the  sea. 
And  the  storm  gathers." 

LEAMNG  Bess  Matthews,  as  we  have  seen,  under  the  influence  of 
a  sad  and  feverish  spirit,  Hugh  Grayson,  as  if  seeking  to  escape 
the  presence  of  a  pursuing  and  painful  thought,  plunged  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  forest,  out  of  the  pathway,  though  still  in  the 
direction  of  his  own  home.  His  mind  was  now  a  complete  chaos, 
in  which  vexation  and  disappointment,  not  to  speak  of  self- 
reproach,  were  active  principles  of  misrule.  He  felt  deeply  the 
shame  following  upon  the  act  of  espionage  of  which  he  had  been 
guilty,  and  though  conscious  that  it  was  the  consequence  of  a 
momentary  paroxysm  that  might  well  offer  excuse,  he  was,  never 
theless,  too  highly  gifted  with  sensibility  not  to  reject  those  sug 
gestions  of  his  mind  which  at  moments  sought  to  extenuate  it. 
Perhaps,  too,  his  feeling  of  abasement  was  not  a  little  exaggerated 
by  the  stern  and  mortifying  rebuke  which  had  fallen  from  the  lips 
of  that  being  whose  good  opinion  had  been  all  the  world  to  him. 
With  these  feelings  at  work,  his  mood  was  in  no  sort  enviable ; 
and  when,  at  nightfall,  he  reached  the  dwelling  of  his  mother,  it 
was  in  a  condition  of  mind  which  drove  him,  a  reckless  savage, 
into  a  corner  of  the  apartment  opposite  that  in  which  sat  the  old 
dame  croning  over  the  pages  of  the  sacred  volume.  She  looked 
up  at  intervals,  and  cursorily  surveyed,  in  brief  glances,  the 
features  of  her  son ;  whose  active  mind  and  feverish  ambition, 
warring  as  they  ever  did  against  that  condition  of  life  imposed 
upon  him  by  the  necessities  of  his  birth  and  habitation,  had  evei 
been  an  object  of  great  solicitude  to  his  surviving  parent.  He 
had  been  her  pet  in  his  childhood — her  pride  as  he  grew  older, 
and  began  to  exhibit  the  energies  and  graces  of  a  strongly-marked 


THE    YEMASSEE.  257 

and  highly  original,  though  unschooled  intellect.  Not  without 
ambition  and  an  appreciation  of  public  honours,  the  old  woman 
could  not  but  regard  Ler  son  as  promising  to  give  elevation  to  tho 
name  of  his  then  unknown  family;  a  hope  not  entirely  extrava 
gant  in  a  part  of  the  world  in  which  the  necessities  of  life  were 
such  as  to  compel  a  sense  of  equality  in  all ;  and,  indeed,  if 
making  an  inequality  any  where,  "making  it  in  favour  rather  of  the 
bold  and  vigorous  plebeian,  than  of  the  delicately-nurtured  and 
usually  unenterprising  scion  of  aristocracy.  Closing  the  book  at 
length,  the  old  lady  turned  to  her  son,  and  without  remarking 
upon  the  peculiar  unseemliness,  not  to  say  wildness,  of  his  appear 
ance,  she  thus  addressed  him  : — 

"  Where  hast  thou  been,  Hughey,  boy,  since  noon  ?  Thy 
brother  and  thyself  both  from  home — I  have  felt  lonesome,  and 
really  began  to  look  for  the  Indians  that  the  young  captain  warned 
us  of." 

"  Still  the  captain — nothing  but  the  captain.  Go  where  1  may, 
he  is  in  my  sight,  and  his  name  within  my  ears.  I  am  for  ever 
haunted  by  his  presence.  His  shadow  is  on  the  wall,  and  before 
me,  whichever  way  I  turn." 

"  And  does  it  offend  thee,  Hughey,  and  wherefore  ?  He  is  a 
goodly  gentleman,  and  a  gracious,  and  is  so  considerate.  He 
smoothed  my  cushion  when  he  saw  it  awry,  and  so  well,  I  had 
thought  him  accustomed  to  it  all  his  life.  I  see  no  harm  in  him." 

"  I  doubt  not,  mother.     He  'certainly  knows  well  how  to  cheat 
old  folks  not  less  than  young  ones  into  confidence.     That  smooth 
ing  of  thy  cushion  makes  him  in  thy  eyes  for  ever." 

"  And  so  it  should,  iny  son,  for  it  shows  consideration.  What 
could  he  hope  to  get  from  an  old  woman  like  me,  and  wherefore 
should  he  think  to  find  means  to  pleasure  me,  but  that  he  is  well- 
bred  and  a  gentleman  ?" 

"Aye,  that  is  the  word,  mother — he  is  a  gentleman — who  knows, 
d  lord  in  disguise — and  is  therefore  superior  to  the  poor  peasant 
who  is  forced  to  dig  his  roots  for  life  in  the  unproductive  sands. 
Wherefore  should  his  hands  be  unblistered,  and  mine  asore  ? 
W^h-jrefore  should  he  come,  and  with  a  smile  and  silly  speech  win 
lii<  way  into  people's  hearts,  when  I,  with  a  toiling  affection  of 


253  THE    YEMASSEE. 

years,  and  a  love  that  almost  grows  into  a  worship  of  its  object, 
may  not  gather  a  single  regard  from  any  ?  Has  nature  given  me 
life  for  this  ?  Have  I  had  a  thought  given  me,  bidding  me  ascend 
the  eminence  and  look  down  upon  the  multitude,  only  for  denial 
and  torture?  therefore  is  this  cruelty,  this  injustice  ?  Can  you 
answer,  mother — does  the  Bible  tell  you  any  thing  on  this  sub 
ject  ?» 

"  Be  not  irreverent,  my  son,  but  take  the  sacred  volume  more 
frequently  into  your  own  hands  if  you  desire  an  answer  to  your 
question.  Why,  Hughey,  are  you  so  perverse  ?  making  yourself 
and  all  unhappy  about  you,  and  still  fevering  with  every  thing  you 
see." 

"  That  is  the  question,  mother,  that  I  asked  you  but  now.  Why 
is  it  ?  Why  am  I  not  like  my  brother,  who  looks  upon  this  Har 
rison  as  if  he  were  a  god,  and  will  do  his  bidding,  and  fetch  and 
carry  for  him  like  a  spaniel  ?  I  am  not  so — yet  thou  hast  taught 
us  both — we  have  known  no  other  teaching.  Why  does  he  love 
the  laughter  of  the  crowd,  content  to  send  up  like  sounds  with  the 
many,  when  I  prefer  the  solitude,  or  if  I  go  forth  with  the  rest,  go 
forth  only  to  dissent  and  to  deny,  and  to  tutor  my  voice  into  a 
sound  that  shall  be  unlike  any  of  theirs  ?  Why  is  all  this  !" 

"Nay,  I  know  not,  yet  so  it  is,  Hughey.  Thou  wert  of  this 
nature  from  thy  cradfe,  and  wouldst  reject  the  toy  which  looked 
like  that  of  thy  brother,  and  quarrel  with  the  sport  which  he  had 
chosen." 

"  Yet  thou  wouldst  have  me  like  him — but  I  would  rather  perish 
with  my  own  thoughts  in  the  gloomiest  dens  of  the  forest,  where 
the  sun  comes  not;  and  better,  far  better  that  it  were  so — far  bet 
ter,"  he  exclaimed,  moodily. 

"  What  say'st  thou,  Hughey — why  this  new  sort  of  language  ? 
what  has  troubled  thee  ?"  inquired  the  old  woman,  affectionately. 

"  Mother,  I  a'a  a  slave — a  dog — an  accursed  thing,  and  in  the 
worst  of  bon.  </e — I  am  nothing." 

"How!—" 

"  I  would  be,  and  I  am  not.  They  keep  me  down — they  refuse 
to  bear — they  do  not  heed  me,  and  with  a  thought  of  command 
*ad  g  will  of  power  in  me,  they  yet  pass  me  by,  and  I  must  give 


THE    YEMASSEE.  259 

way  to  a  bright  wand  and  a  gilded  chain.  Even  here  in  these 
woods,  with  a  poor  neighbourhood,  and  surrounded  by  those  who 
are  unhonoured  and  unknown  in  society,  they — the  slaves  that 
they  are ! — they  seek  for  artificial  forms,  and  bind  themselves  with 
constraints  that  can  only  have  a  sanction  in  the  degradation  of  tie 
many.  They  yield  up  the  noble  and  true  attributes  of  a  generou  \ 
nature,  and  make  themselves  subservient  to  a  name  and  a  mark- 
thus  it  is  that  fathers  enslave  their  children ;  and  but  for  this,  ou 
lords  proprietors,  whom  God  in  His  mercy  take  to  himself,  hav( 
dared  to  say,  even  in  this  wild  land  not  yet  their  own,  to  the  peo 
ple  who  have  battled  its  dangers — ye  shall  worship  after  our  fash 
ion,  or  your  voices  are  unheard.  Who  is  the  tyrant  in  this  ? — not 
the  ruler — not  the  ruler — but  those  base  spirits  who  let  him  rule, — 
those  weak  and  unworthy,  who,  taking  care  to  show  their  weak 
nesses,  have  invited  the  oppression  which  otherwise  could  have  no 
head.  I  would  my  thoughts  were  theirs — or,  and  perhaps  it  were 
better — I  would  their  thoughts  were  mine." 

"  God's  will  be  done,  my  son — but  I  would  thou  hadst  this  con 
tent  of  disposition — without  which  there  is  no  happiness." 

"  Content,  mother — how  idle  is  that  thought.  Life  itself  is  dis 
content — hope,  which  is  one  of  our  chief  sources  of  enjoyment,  is 
discontent,  since  it  seeks  that  which  it  has  not.  Content  is  a 
sluggard,  and  should  be  a  slave — a  thing  to  eat  and  sleep,  and 
perhaps  to  dream  of  eating  and  sleeping,  but  not  a  thing  to  live. 
Discontent  is  the  life  of  enterprise,  of  achievement,  of  glory — ay, 
even  of  affection.  I  know  the  preachers  say  not  this,  and  the  cant 
of  the  books  tells  a  different  story  ;  but  I  have  thought  of  it,  mo 
ther,  and  I  know  !  Without  discontent — a  serious  and  unsleeping 
discontent — life  would  be  a  stagnant  stream  as  untroubled  as  the 
back  watet  of  the  swamps  of  Edistoh,  and  as  full  of  the  vilest 
reptiles." 

"  Thou  art  for  ever  thinking  strange  things,  Hugh,  and  different 
from  all  other  people,  and  somehow  I  can  never  sleep  after  I  have 
been  talking  with  thee." 

"  Because  I  have  thought  for  myself,  mother — in  the  woods,  by 
the  waters — and  have  not  had  my  mind  compressed  into  the  old 
time  -mould  with  which  the  pedant  shapes  the  skulls  of  the  imita- 


260  THE   YEMASSEE. 

tive  apes  that  courtesy  considers  human.  My  own  mind  is  my 
teacher,  and  perhaps  my  tyrant.  It  is  some  satisfaction  that  I 
have  no  other — some  satisfaction  that  1  may  still  refuse  to  look 
oui  for  idols  such  as  Walter  loves  to  seek  and  worship — demean 
ing  a  name  and  family  which  he  thus  can  never  honour." 

"What  reproach  is  this,  Hugh ey?  Wherefore  art  thou  thus 
often  speaking  unkindly  of  thy  brother  ?  Thou  dost  wrong  him." 

"  He  wrongs  me,  mother,  and  the  name  of  my  father,  when  he 
thus  for  ever  cringes  to  this  captain  of  yours — this  Harrison — 
whose  name  and  image  mingle  in  with  his  every  thought,  and 
whom  he  thrusts  into  my  senses  at  every  word  which  he  utters." 

"  Let  not  thy  dislike  to  Harrison  make  thee  distrustful  of  thy 
Drother.  Beware,  Hughey — beware,  my  son,  that  thou  dost  not 
teach  thyself  to  hate  where  nature  would  have  thee  love ! " 

"  Would  I  could — how  much  more  happiness  were  mine ! 
Could  I  hate  where  now  I  love — could  I  exchange  affections, 
devotion,  a  passionate  worship,  for  scorn,  for  hate,  for  indifference, 
— anything  so  it  be  change  !  "  and  the  youth  groaned  at  the  con 
clusion  of  the  sentence,  while  he  thrust  his  face  buried  in  his  hands 
against  the  wall. 

"  Thou  prayest  for  a  bad  spirit,  Hughey  ;  and  a  temper  of  sin 
— hear  now  what  the  good  book  says,  just  where  I  have  been  read 
ing  ; "  and  she  was  about  to  read,  but  he  hurriedly  approached 
and  interrupted  her-— 

"Does  it  say  why  I  should  have  senses,  feelings,  faculties  of 
mind,  moral,  person,  to  be  denied  their  aim,  their  exercise,  their 
utterance,  their  life  ?  Does  it  say  why  I  should  live,  for  persecu 
tion,  for  shame,  for  shackles  ?  If  it  explain  not  this,  mother, — 
read  not — I  will  not  hear— look!  I  shut  my  ears — I  will  not  hear 
even  thy  voice — I  am  deaf,  and  would  have  thee  dumb ! " 

"  Hugh,"  responded  the  old  woman,  solemnly — "have  I  loved 
thee  or  not  ? " 

"  Wherefore  the  question,  mother  ? "  he  returned,  with  a  sudden 
change  from  passionate  and  tumultuous  emotion,  to  a  more  gentle 
and  humble  expression. 

"  I  would  know  from  thy  own  lips,  that  thou  thinkest  me  worthy 
only  of  thy  unkind  speech,  and  look,  and  gesture.  If  I  have  not 


THE    YEMASSEE.  261 

loved  ,thee  well,  and  as  my  son,  thy  sharp  words  are  good,  and  I 
deserve  them ;  and  I  shall  bear  them  without  reproach  or  reply." 

"  Madness,  mother,  dear  mother — hold  me  a  madman,  but  not 
forgetful  of  thy  love — thy  too  much  love  for  one  so  undeserving. 
It  is  thy  indulgence  that  makes  me  thus  presuming.  Hadst  thou 
been  less  kind,  I  feel  that  I  should  have  been  less  daring." 

"  Ah !  Hugh,  thou  art  wrestling  with  evil,  and  thou  lovest  too 
much  its  embrace  ! — but  stay, — thou  art  not  going  forth  again  to 
night?"  slue  asked,  seeing  him  about  to  leave  the  apartment. 

"  Yes,  yes — I  must — I  must  go." 

"  Where,  I  pray—" 

"  To  the  woods — to  the  woods.  I  must  walk — out  of  sight — ID 
the  air — I  must  have  fresh  air,  for  I  choke  strangely." 

"  Sick,  Hughey,  my  boy — stay,  and  let  me  get  thee  some 
medicine." 

"  No,  no, — not  sick,  dear  mother  ;  keep  me  not  back — fear  not 
for  me — I  was  never  better — never  better."  And  he  supported  her 
with  an  effort  at  moderation,  back  to  her  chair.  She  was  forced 
to  be  satisfied  with  the  assurance,  which,  however,  could  not  quiet 
her. 

"Thou  wilt  come  back  soon,  Hughey,  for  I  am  all  alone,  and 
Walter  is  with  the  captain." 

u  The  captain  ! — ay,  ay,  soon  enough,  soon  enough,"  and  as  he 
spoke  he  was  about  to  pass  from  the  door  of  the  apartment,  when 
the  ill-suppressed  sigh  which  the  mother  uttered  as  she  contem 
plated  in  him  the  workings  of  a  passion  too  strong  for  her  present 
power  to  suppress,  arrested  his  steps.  He  turned  quickly,  looked 
back  for  an  instant,  then  rushed  towards  her,  and  kneeling  down 
by  her  side,  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips,  while  he  exclaimed — 

"  Bless  me,  mother — bless  your  son — pray  for  him,  too — pray 
that  he  may  not  madden  with  the  wild  thoughts  and  v^'der  hopes 
that  keep  him  watchful  and  sometimes  make  him  wayward." 

"  I  do,  Hughey — I  do,  my  son.  May  God  in  his  mercy  bleat 
thee,  as  I  do  now  1 " 

He  pressed  her  hand  once  more  to  his  lips,  and  passed  from  the 
Apartment 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 


«*  Whtt  have  I  done  to  thee,  that  thou  ghouldtt  lift 
Thy  haud  against  me  ?     Wherefore  wouldtt  thou  strika 
The  heart  that  never  wrong'd  thee  T" 

"  'Ti»  a  lie, 

Thou  art  mine  enemy,  that  evermore 
Keep'st  me  awake  o'  nights.     I  cannot  sleep, 
While  thou  art  in  my  thought." 


FLYING  from  the  house,  as  if  by  so  doing  he  might  lose  the 
thoughts  that  had  roused  him  there  into  a  paroxysm  of  that  fierce 
passion  which  too  much  indulgence  had  made  habitual,  he  rambled, 
only  half  conscious  of  his  direction,  from  cluster  to  cluster  of  the  old 
trees,  until  the  seductive  breeze  of  the  evening,  coming  up  from  the 
river,  led  him  down  into  that  quarter.  The  stream  lay  before 
him  in  the  shadow  of  night,  reflecting  clearly  the  multitude  of  starry 
eyes  looking  down  from  the  heavens  upon  it,  and  with  but  a  slight 
ripple,  under  the  influence  of  the  evening  breeze,  crisping  its  other 
wise  settled  bosom.  How  different  from  his — that  wanderer  I 
The  disappointed  love — the  vexed  ambition — the  feverish  thirst  for 
the  unknown,  perhaps  for  the  forbidden,  increasing  his  agony  at 
every  stride  which  he  took  along  those  quiet  waters.  It  was  here 
in  secret  places,  that  his  passion  poured  itself  forth — with  the  crowd 
it  was  all  kept  down  by  the  stronger  pride,  which  shrank  from  the 
thought  of  making  its  feelings  public  property.  With  them  he 
was  simply  cold  and  forbidding,  or  perhaps  recklessly  and  inordi 
nately  gay.  This  was  his  policy.  He  well  knew  how  great  is  the 
delight  of  the  vulgar  mind  when  it  can  search  and  tent  the  wound 
which  it  discovers  you  to  possess.  How  it  delights  to  see  the 
victim  writhe  under  its  infliction,  and,  with  how  much  pleasure  its 
ears  drink  in  the  groans  of  suffering,  particularly  the  suffering  of 
the  heart  He  knew  that  men  are  never  so  well  contect,  once 
apprised  of  the  sore,  as  when  they  are  probing  it ;  unheeding  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  263 

wincings,  or  enjoying  them  with  the  same  sort  of  satisfaction  with 
which  the  boy  tortures  the  kitten — and  he  determined,  in  his  case 
at  least,  to  deprive  them  of  that  gratification.  He  had  already 
learned  how  much  we  are  the  sport  of  the  many,  when  we  become 
the  victims  of  the  few. 

The  picture  of  the  night  around  him  was  not  for  such  a  mood. 
There  is  a  condition  of  mind  necessary  for  the  due  appreciation  of  each 
object  and  enjoyment,  and  harmony  is  the  life-principle,  as  well  of 
man  as  of  nature.  That  quiet  stream,  with  its  sweet  and  sleepless 
murmur — those  watchful  eyes,  clustering  in  capricious  and  beautiful 
groups  above,  and  peering  down,  attended  by  a  thousand  frail 
glories,  into  the  mirrored  waters  beneath — those  bending  trees, 
whose  matted  arms  and  branches,  fringing  the  river,  made  it  a 
hallowed  home  for  the  dreaming  solitary — they  chimed  not  in  with 
that  spirit,  which  now,  ruffled  by  crossing  currents,  felt  not,  saw 
not,  desired  not  their  influences.  At  another  time,  in  another 
mood,  he  had  worshipped  them ;  now,  their  very  repose  and  soft 
ness,  by  offering  no  interruption  to  the  train  of  his  own  wild 
musings,  rather  contributed  to  their  headstrong  growth.  The 
sudden  tempest  had  done  the  work — the  storm  precedes  a  degree 
of  quiet  which  in  ordinary  nature  is  unknown. 

"  Peace,  peace — give  me  peace !"  he  cried,  to  the  elements 
The  small  echo  from  the  opposite  bank,  cried  back  to  him,  in  a 
tone  of  soothing,  "  peace" — but  he  waited  not  for  its  answer. 

"  Wherefore  do  I  ask  ?"  he  murmured  to  himself,  "  and  what  is 
it  that  I  ask  ?  Peace,  indeed  !  Repose,  rather — release,  escape — 
a  free  release  from  the  accursed  agony  of  this  still  pursuing 
thought  Is  life  peace,  even  with  love  attained,  with  conquest, 
with  a  high  hope  realized — with  an  ambition  secure  in  all  men's 
adoration  !  Peace,  indeed  !  Thou  liest,  thou  life  !  thou  art  an 
embodied  lie, — wherefore  dost  thou  talk  to  me  of  peace  ?  Ye 
elements,  that  murmur  on  in  falsehood, — stars  and  suns,  streams, 
and  ye  gnarled  monitors — ye  are  all  false.  Ye  would  soothe,  and 
ye  excite,  lure,  encourage,  tempt,  and  deny.  The  peace  of  life  is 
insensibility — the  suicide  of  mind  or  affection.  Is  that  a  worse 
crime  than  the  murder  of  the  animal  ?  Impossible.  I  may  not 
rob  the  heart  of  its  passion — the  mind  of  its  immortality  :  and  th« 


?.  [TV    Ki 


264  THE    YEMASSEE. 

death  of  matter  is  absurd.  Ha !  there  is  but  one  to  care — but 
one, — and  she  is  old.  A  year — a  month — and  the  loss  is  a  loss  no 
longer.  There  is  too  much  light  here  for  that.  Why  need  these 
stars  see — why  should  any  see,  or  hear,  or  know  ?  When  I  am 
silent  they  will  shine — and  the  waters  rove  on,  and  she — she  will 

be  not  less  happy  that  I  come  not  between  her  and .  A  dark 

Bpot — gloomy  and  still,  where  the  groan  will  have  no  echo,  and  no 
eye  may  trace  the  blood  which  streams  from  a  heart  that  has  only 
too  much  in  it." 

Thus  soliloquizing,  in  the  aberration  of  intellect,  which  was  too 
apt  to  follow  a  state  of  high  excitement  in  the  individual  before 
us,  he  plunged  into  a  small,  dark  cavity  of  wood,  lying  not  far 
from  the  river  road,  but  well  concealed,  as  it  was  partly  under  the 
contiguous  swamp.  Here,  burying  the  handle  of  his  bared  knife 
in  the  thick  ooze  of  the  soil  upon  which  he  stood,  the  sharp  point 
upwards,  and  so  placed  that  it  must  have  penetrated,  he  knelt 
down  at  a  brief  space  from  it,  and,  with  a  last  thought  upon  the 
mother  whom  he  could  not  then  forbear  to  think  upon,  he  strove 
to  pray.  But  he  could  not — the  words  stuck  in  his  throat,  and  he 
gave  it  up  in  despair.  He  turned  to  the  fatal  weapon,  and  throw 
ing  open  his  vest,  so  as  to  free  the  passage  to  his  heart  of  all 
obstructions,  with  a  swimming  and  indirect  emotion  of  the  brain, 
he  prepared  to  cast  himself,  from  the  spot  where  he  knelt,  upon  its 
unvarying  edge,  but  at  that  moment  came  the  quick  tread  of  a 
horse's  hoof  to  his  ear  ;  and  with  all  that  caprice  which  must 
belong  to  the  mind  which,  usually  good,  has  yet,  even  for  an 
instant,  purposed  a  crime  not  less  foolish  than  foul,  he  rose  at  once 
to  his  feet. 

The  unlooked-for  sounds  had  broken  the  spell  of  the  scene  and 
situation ;  and,  seizing  the  bared  weapon,  he  advanced  to  the  edge 
of  the  swamp,  where  it  looked  down  upon  the  road  which  ran 
alongside.  The  sounds  rapidly  increased  in  force  ;  and  at  length, 
passing  directly  along  before  him,  his  eye  distinguished  the  outline 
of  a  person  whom  he  knew  at  once  to  be  Harrison.  The  rider 
went  by,  but  in  a  moment  after,  the  sounds  had  ceased.  His  pro 
gress  had  been  arrested ;  and  with  an  emotion,  strange,  and  still 
seemingly  without  purpose,  and  for  which  he  did  not  seek  to 


THE   YEMASSEE.  265 

account,  Grayson  changed  his  position,  and  moved  along  the  edge 
of  the  road  to  where  the  sounds  of  the  horse  had  terminated. 
His  fingers  clutched  the  knife,  bared  for  a  different  purpose,  with 
a  strange  soit  of  ecstasy.  A  sanguinary  picture  of  triumph  and 
of  terror  rose  up  before  his  eyes  ;  and  the  leaves  and  the  trees,  tc 
his  inind,  seemed  of  the  one  hue,  and  dripping  with  gouts  of  blood. 
The  demon  was  present  in  every  thought.  He  had  simply  changed 
his  plan  of  operations.  A  long  train  of  circumstances  and  their 
concomitants  crowded  upon  the  mental  vision  of  the  youth — cir 
cumstances  of  strife,  concealment,  future  success — deep,  long-looked 
for  enjoyment — and  still,  with  all,  came  the  beautiful  image  of 
Bess  Matthews. 

"  Thus  the  one  passion  subject  makes  of  all, 

And  slaves  of  the  strong  sense — " 

There  was  a  delirious  whirl — a  rich,  confused  assemblage  of  the 
strange,  the  sweet,  the  wild,  in  his  spirit,  that,  in  his  morbid  con 
dition,  was  a  deep  delight ;  and,  without  an  effort  to  bring  ordei 
to  the  adjustment  of  this  confusion,  as  would  have  been  the  case 
with  a  well-regulated  mind — without  a  purpose  in  his  own  view — 
he  advanced  cautiously  and  well  concealed  beiiind  the  trees,  and 
approached  the  individual  whom  he  had  long  since  accustomed 
himself  only  to  regard  as  an  enemy.  Concealment  is  a  leading 
influence  of  crime  with  individuals  not  accustomed  to  refer  all  their 
feelings  and  thoughts  to  the  control  of  just  principles,  and  the 
remoteness  and  the  silence,  the  secrecy  of  the  scene,  and  th«  ease 
with  which  the  crime  could  be  covered  up,  were  among  the  moving 
causes  which  prompted  the  man  to  murder,  who  had  a  little  before 
meditated  suicide. 

Harrison  had  alighted  from  his  horse,  and  was  then  busied  in 
fastening  his  bridle  to  a  swinging  branch  of  the  tree  under  which 
be  stood.  Having  done  this,  and  carefully  thrown  the  stirrups 
across  the  saddle,  he  left  him,  and  sauntering  back  a  few  paces  to 
a  spot  of  higher  ground,  he  cast  himself,  with  the  composure  of  an 
old  hunter,  at  full  length  upon  the  long  grass,  which  tufted  prettily 
the  spot  he  had  chosen.  This  done,  he  sounded  merrily  three 

12 


266  THE   YEMASSEE. 

several  notes  upon  the  horn  which  hung  about  Liv  ^cci",  <wO  seemed 
then  to  await  the  coming  of  another. 

r|1lie  blast  of  the  horn  gave  quickness  to  the  approach  of  Hugh 
(rrayson,'who  had  been  altogether  unnoticed  by  Harrison  ;  and  he 
now  stood  in  the  shadow  of  a  tree,  closely  observing  the  fine,  manly 
outline,  the  graceful  position,  and  the  entire  symmetry  of  his 
rival's  extended  person.  He  saw,  and  his  passions  grew  more  and 
more  tumultuous  with  the  survey.  His  impulses  became  stronger 
as  his  increasing  thoughts  grew  more  strange.  There  was  a  feel- 
inj  of  strife,  and  a  dream  of  blood  in  his  fancy — he  longed  for  the 
one,  and  his  eye  saw  the  other — a  rich,  attractive,  abundant  stream, 
pouring,  as  it  were,  from  the  thousand  arteries  of  some  overshadow 
ing  tree.  The  reasoning  powers  all  grew  silent — the  moral  facul 
ties  were  distorted  with  the  survey ;  and  the  feelings  were  only  so 
many  winged  arrows  goading  him  on  to  evil.  For  a  time,  the 
guardian  conscience — that  high  standard  of  moral  education,  with 
out  which  we  cease  to  be  human,  and  are  certainly  unhappy — 
battled  stoutly  ;  and  taking  the  shape  of  a  thought,  which  told  him 
continually  of  his  mother,  kept  back,  nervously  restless,  the  hand 
which  clutched  the  knife.  But  the  fierce  passions  grew  triumphant, 
with  the  utterance  of  a  single  name  from  the  lips  of  Harrison, — 
that  of  Bess  Matthews,  mingled  with  a  momentary  catch  of  song 
such  as  is  poured  forth,  almost  unconsciously,  by  the  glad  an^ 
ardent  affection.  Even  as  this  little  catch  of  song  smote  upon  his 
senses,  Hugh  Grayson  sprang  from  the  shadow  of  the  tree  whicb 
had  concealed  him,  and  cast  himself  headlong  upon  the  bosom  of 
"}ie  prostrate  man. 

Harrison  grappled   his  assailant,  and  struggled  with  powerfu 
limbs,  in  his  embrace,  crying  out,  as  he  did  so : 

"  Ha !    why  is  this  ?     Who  art  thou  ?     Would'st  thou  murde- 
me,  ruffian  ?" 

"  Ay !  murder  is  the  word  !     Murder !     I  would  have  thy  blood 
T  would  drink  it !" 

Such  was  the  answer  of  the  madman,  and  the  knife  Hashed  ir 
his  grasp. 

"  Horrible!    but  thou  wilt  fight  for  it,  murderer,"  was  the  reply 
of  Harrison ;    while,  struggling  with  prodigious  effort,  though  al 


THE     YEMASSEE.  267 

great  disadvantage  from  the  closely  pressing  form  of  Gray  son, 
whose  knee  was  upon  his  breast,  he  strove  with  one  hand,  at  tha 
same  moment  to  free  his  own  knife  from  its  place  in  his  bosom, 
while  aiming  to  ward  off  with  the  other  hand  the  stroke  of  his 
enemy.  The  whole  affair  had  been  so  sudden,  so  perfectly  unlooked- 
for  by  Harrison,  who,  not  yet  in  the  Indian  country,  had  not  expected 
danger,  that  he  could  not  but  conceive  that  the  assailant  had  mis 
taken  him  for  another.  In  the  moment,  therefore,  he  appealed  to 
him. 

•"  Thou  hast  erred,  stranger.     I  am  not  he  thou  seekest." 

"  Thou  liest,"  was  the  grim  response  of  Grayson. 

"  Ha  !  who  art  thou  ?" 

"  Thy  enemy — in  life — in  death — through  the  past,  and  for  the 
long  future,  though  it  be  endless,—  still  thine  enemy.  I  hale — I 
will  destroy  thee.  Thou  hast  lain  in  my  path — thou  hast  darkened 
my  hope — thou  hast  doomed  me  to  eternal  woe.  Shalt  thou  have 
what  thou  hast  denied  me  ?  Shalt  thou  live  to  win  what  I  have 
lost?  No — I  have  thee.  There  is  no  aid  for  thee.  In  another 
moment,  and  I  am  revenged.  Die — die  like  a  dog,  since  thou 
hast  doomed  me  to  live,  and  to  feel  like  one.  Die !" 

The  uplifted  eyes  of  Harrison  beheld  the  blade  descending  in 
the  strong  grasp  of  his  enemy.     One  more  effort,  one  last  struggle  ; 
_  for  the  true  mind  never  yields*     While  reason  la&ts,  hope  lives,  for 
the  natui  aT  liTIyof  li  u  m  an  reason  is  hope.     But  he  struggled  in 
vain.     The  hold  taken  by  his  assailant  was  un relaxing — that  of 
iron ;  and  the  thoughts   of  Harrison,  though  still   he  struggled, 
were  strangely  mingling  with  the  prayer,  and  the  sweet  dream  of  ^ 
a  passion,  now  about  to  be  defrauded  of  its  joys  for  ever — but, 
just  at  the  moment  when  he  had  given  himself  up  as  utterly  lost,  i 
the  grasp  of  his  foe  was  withdrawn.     The  criminal  had  relented — 
the  guardian   conscience  had  resumed  her  sway  in  time  for  the  ' 
safety  of  both  the  destroyer  and  his  victim. 

And  what  a  revulsion  of  feeling  and  of  sense !  How  terrible  is 
passion — how  terrible  in  its  approach — how  more  terrible  in  its 
passage  and  departure !  TKe  fierce  madman,  a  moment  before 
ready  to  drink  a  goblet-draught  from  the  heart  of  his  enemy,  now 
trembled  before  him,  like  a  leaf  half  detached  bv  the  frost,  and 


268  THE    YEMASSEE. 

yielding  at  the  first  breathings  of  the  approaching  zephyr.  Stag 
gering  back,  as  if  himself  struck  with  the  sudden  shaft  of  death, 
Grayson  sank  against  the  tree  from  which  he  had  sprung  in  his 
first  assault,  and  covered  his  hands  in  agony.  His  breast  heaved 
like  a  wave  of  the  ocean  when  the  winds  gather  in  their  desperate 
frolic  over  its  always  sleepless  bosom ;  and  his  whole  frame  was 
rocked  to  and  fro,  with  the  convulsions  of  his  spirit.  Harrison 
rose  to  his  feet  the  moment  he  had  been  releasedj  and  with  a 
curiosity  not  unmingled  with  caution,  approached  the  unhappy 
man. 

"What!  Master  Hugh  Grayson!"  he  exclaimed  naturally 
enough,  as  he  found  out  who  he  was,  "  what  has  tempted  thee  to 
this  madness — wherefore  ?" 

"  Ask  me  not — ask  me  not — in  mercy,  ask  me  not.  Thou  art 
safe,  thou  art  safe.  I  have  not  thy  blood  upon  my  hands ;  thank 
God  for  that.  It  was  her  blessing  that  saved  thee — that  saved 
me  ;  oh,  mother,  how  I  thank  thee  for  that  blessing.  It  took  the 
madness  from  my  spirit  in  the  moment  when  I  would  have  struck 
thee,  Harrison,  even  with  as  fell  a  joy  as  the  Indian  strikes  in 
battle.  Go — thou  art  safe.  Leave  me,  I  pray  thee.  Leave  me  to 
my  own  dreadful  thought — the  thought  which  hates,  and  would 
just  now  have  destroyed  thee." 

"  But  wherefore  that  thought,  Master  Grayson  ?  Thou  art  but 
young  to  have  such  thoughts,  and  should st  take  counsel — and  why 
such  should  be  thy  thoughts  of  me,  I  would  know  from  thy  own 
lips,  which  have  already  said  so  much  that  is  strange  and  unwel 
come." 

"  Strange,  dost  thou  say,"  exclaimed  the  youth  with  a  wild 
grin,  "  not  strange — not  strange.  But  go — go — leave  me,  lest  the 
dreadful  passion  come  back.  Thou  didst  wrong  me — thou  hast 
done  me  the  worst  of  wrongs,  though,  perchance,  thou  knowest  it 
not.  But  it  is  over  now — thou  art  safe.  I  ask  thee  not  to  forgive, 
but  if  thou  wouldst  serve  me,  Master  Harrison — " 

"  Speak !"  said  the  other,  as  the  youth  paused. 

"  If  thou  wouldst  serve  me, — think  me  thy  foe,  thy  deadly  foe  ; 
one  waiting  and  in  mood  to  slay,  and  so  thinking,  as  one  bound 
to  preserve  himself  at  all  hazard,  use  thy  knife  upon  my  bosom 


THE    YEMASSEE.  269 

now,  as  I  would  have  used  mine  upon  thee.  Strike,  if  thou  wouldst 
serve  me."  And  be  dashed  his  hand  upon  the  bared  breast 
violently  as  he  spo^e. 

"  Thou  art  mad,  Master  Grayson — to  ask  of  me  to  do  such  folly. 
Hear  me  but  a  while" — 

But  the  other  heard  him  not, — he  muttered  to  himself  half 
incoherent  words  and  sentences. 

"  First  suicide — miserable  wretch, — and  then,  God  of  Heaven 
that  I  should  have  been  so  nigh  to  murder,"  and  he  sobbed  like  a 
child  before  the  man  he  had  striven  to  slay,  until  pity  had  com 
pletely  taken  the  place  of  every  other  feeling  in  the  bosom  of  Har 
rison.     At    this    moment   the  waving    of  a  torch-light    appeared 
through  the  woods  at  a  little  distance.     The  criminal  started  as  if 
in  terror,  and  was  about  to  fly  from  the  spot,  but  Harrison  inter 
posed  and  prevented  him. 

u  Stay,  Master  Grayson — go  not.  The  light  comes  in  the  hands 
of  thy  brother,  who  is  to  put  me  across  the  river.  Thou  wilt  return 
with  him,  and  may  thy  mood  grow  gentler  and  thy  thoughts 
wiser.  Thou  hast  been  rash  and  foolish,  but  I  mistake  not  thy 
nature,  which  I  hold  meant  for  better  things — I  regard  it  not, 
therefore,  to  thy  harm ;  and  to  keep  thee  from  a  thought 
which  will  trouble  thee  more  than  it  can  harm  me  now,  I  will 
crave  of  thee  to  lend  all  thy  aid  to  assist  thy  mother  from  hex 
present  habitation,  as  she  has  agreed,  upon  the  advice  of  thy  bro 
ther  and  myself.  Thou  wast  not  so  minded  this  morning,  so  thy 
brother  assured  me  ;  but  thou  wilt  take  ray  word  for  it  that  the 
remove  has  grown  essential  to  her  safety.  Walter  will  tell  thee  all. 
In  the  meanwhile,  what  has  passed  between  us  we  hold  to  our 
selves  ;  and  if,  as  thou  hast  said,  thou  hast  had  wrong  at  my 
hands,  thou  shalt  have  right  at  thy  quest,  when  other  duties 
will  allow." 

"  Enough,  enough  !"  cried  the  youth  in  a  low  tone  impatiently, 

as  he  beheld  his  brother,  carrying  a  torch,  emerge  from  the  cover. 

"  How  now,  Master  Walter — thou  hast  been  sluggard,  and  but 

for  thy  younger  brother,  whom  I  find  a  pleasant  gentleman,  I  should 

have  worn  out  good-humour  in  seeking  for  patience." 

"  What,  Hugh  here  !"  Walter  exclaimed,  regarding  his  brothel 


270  THE    YEMASSEE. 

with  some  astonishment,  as  he  well  knew  the  dislike  in  which  he 
held  Harrison. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  latter,  "  and  he  has  grow^n  more  reasonable 
since  morning,  and  is  now, — if  I  so  understand  him — not  unwilling 
to  give  aid  in  thy  mother's  remove.  But  come — let  us  away — we 
have  no  time  for  the  fire.  Of  the  horse,  thy  brother  will  take 
charge — keep  him  not  here  for  me,  but  let  him  bear  thy  mother 
to  the  Block  House.  She  will  find  him  gentle.  And  now,  Mas 
ter  Grayson — farewell !  I  hope  to  know  thee  better  on  my  return, 
as  I  desire  thou  shalt  know  me.  Come,  Walter. " 

Concealed  in  the  umbrage  of  the  shrub  trees  which  overhung 
the  river,  a  canoe  lay  at  the  water's  edge,  into  which  Harrison 
leaped,  followed  by  the  elder  Grayson.  They  were  soon  off — the 
skiff,  like  a  fairy  bark,  gliding  almost  noiselessly  across  that  Indian 
river.  Watching  their  progress  for  a  while,  Hugh  Grayson  lingered 
until  the  skiff  became  a  speck ;  then,  with  strangely  mingled  feel 
ings  of  humiliation  and  satisfaction,  leaping  upon  the  steed  which 
had  been  given  him  in  charge,  he  took  his  way  to  the  dwelling  of 
his  mother. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

"  Be  thy  teeth  firmly  set ;  the  time  in  corn*, 
To  rend  and  trample      We  are  ready  all, 
All,  but  the  victim." 

AT  dark,  Saimtee,  Ishiagaska,  Enoree-Mattee,  the  prophet  and  a 
few  others  of  the  Yemassee  chiefs  and  leaders,  all  entertaining  the 
same  decided  hostilities  to  the  Carolinians,  and  all  more  or 
less  already  committed  to  the  meditated  enterprise  against  them, 
met  at  the  lodge  of  Ishiagaska,  in  the  town  of  Pocota-ligo,  and 
discussed  their  further  preparations  at  some  length.  The  insurrec 
tion  had  ripened  rapidly,  and  had  nearly  reached  a  head.  All  the 
neighbouring  tribes,  without  an  exception,  had  pledged  themselves 
for  the  common  object,  and  the  greater  number  of  those  extending 
over  Georgia  and  Florida,  were  also  boi*.  '-  the  same  dreadful 
contract.  The  enemies  of  the  settlement,  in  this  conspiracy,  ex 
tended  from  Cape  Fear  to  the  mountains  of  Apalachia,  and  the 
disposable  force  of  the  Yemassees,  under  this  league,  amounted  to 
at  least  six  thousand  warriors.  These  forces  were  gathering  at 
various  points  according  to  arrangement,  and  large  bodies  from 
sundry  tribes  had  already  made  their  appearance  at  Pocota-ligo, 
from  which  it  was  settled  that  the  first  blow  should  be  given. 
Nor  were  the  Indians,  thus  assembling,  bowmen  merely.  The 
Spanish  authorities  of  St.  Augustine,  who  were  at  the  bottom  of 
the  conspiracy,  had  furnished  them  with  a  considerable  supply  of 
arms ;  and  the  conjectures  of  Harrison  rightly  saw  in  the  boxes 
transferred  by  Chorley,  the  seaman,  to  the  Yemassees,  those  wea 
pons  of  massacre  which  the  policy  of  the  Carolinians  had  withheld 
usually  from  the  hands  of  the  red  men.  These,  however,  were 
limited  to  the  forest  nobility — the  several  chiefs  bound  in  the  war ; 
— to  the  commons,  a  knife  or  tomahawk  was  the  assigned,  and 
perhaps  the  more  truly  useful  present.  The  musket,  at  that  period, 
to  the  hands  of  the  unpractised  savage,  was  not  half  so  dangerou*- 


272  THE    YEMASSEE. 

< 

as  the  bow.  To  this  array  of  the  forces  gathered  against  the  Caro 
linians,  we  must  add  those  of  the  pirate  Chorley — a  desperado  in 
every  sense  of  the  word,  a  profligate  boy,  a  vicious  and  outlawed 
man — daring,  criminal,  and  only  engaging  in  the  present  adven 
ture  in  the  hope  of  the  spoil  and  plunder  which  he  hoped  from 
it.  In  the  feeble  condition  of  the  infant  colony  there  was  little 
risk  in  his  present  position.  Without  vessels  of  war  of  any  sort, 
and  only  depending  upon  the  mother  country  for  such  assistance, 
whenever  a  French  or  Spanish  invasion  took  place,  the  province 
was  lamentably  defenceless.  The  visit  of  Chorley,  in  reference  to 
this  present  weakness,  had  been  admirably  well-timed.  He  had 
waited  until  the  departure  of  the  Swallow,  the  English  armed 
packet,  which  periodically  traversed  the  ocean  with  advices  from 
the  sovereign  to  the  subject.  He  then  made  his  appearance  iii 
the .  waters  of  the  colony,  secure  from  that  danger,  and,  indeed,  if 
we  may  rely  upon  the  historians  of  the  period,  almost  secure  from 
any  other ;  for  we  are  told  that,  in  their  wild  abodes,  the  colonists 
were  not  always  the  scrupulous  moralists  which  another  region 
had  rnade  them.  They  did  not  scruple  at  this  or  at  that  sort  of 
trade,  so  long  as  it  was  profitable ;  and  Chorley,  the  pirate,  would 
have  had  no  difficulty,  as  he  well  knew  by  experience,  so  long  as 
he  avoided  any  overt  performance,  which  should  force  upon  the 
public  sense  a  duty,  which  many  of  the  people  were- but  too  well 
satisfied  when  they  could  avoid.  It  did  not  matter  to  many  among 
those  with  whom  he  pursued  his  traffic,  whether  or  not  the  article 
which  the'y  procured,  at  so  cheap  a  rate,  had  been  bought  with  blood 
and  the  strong  hand.  It  was  enough  that  the  goods  were  to  be 
had  when  wanted,  of  as  fair  quality,  an  J  fifty  per  cent,  cheaper 
than  those  offered  in  the  legitimate  course  of  trade.  To  sum  up 
all  in  little,  our  European  ancestors  wore,  in  many  respects,  mon 
strous  great  rascals. 

Chorley  was  present  at  this  interview  with  the  insurrectionary 
chiefs  of  Yemassee,  and  much  good  counsel  he  gave  them.  The 
meeting  was  preparatory,  and  here  they  prepared  the  grand  mouvc- 
ment,  and  settled  the  disposition  of  the  subordinates.  Here  they 
arranged  all  those  small  matters  of  etiquette  beforehand,  by  which 
tn  avoid  little  jealousies  and  disputes  among  their  auxiliaries ;  foi 


THE    YEMASSEE  273 

national  pride,  or  rather  the  great  glory  of  the  clan,  was  as  desperate 
a  passion  with  the  southern  Indians,  as  with  the  yet  more  breech- 
kiss  Highlanders  of  Scotland.  Nothing  was  neglected  in  this  inter 
view  which,  to  the  deliberate  mind,  seemed  necessary  to  success ; 
and  they  were  prepared  to  break  up  their  meeting,  in  order  to  the 
general  assemblage  of  the  people,  to  whom  the  formal  and  official 
announcement  was  to  be  given,  when  Ishiagaska  recalled  them  to 
a  matter  which,  t\  that  fierce  Indian,  seemed  much  more  important 
than  any  other.  Chorley  beheld,  with  interest,  the  animated 
glance-*-the  savage  grin, — of  the  red  warrior,  and  though  he  knew 
not  the  signification  of  the  words  of  the  speaker,  he  yet  needed  no 
interpreter  to  convey  to  him  the  purport  of  his  speech. 

"  The  dog  must  smell  the  blood,  or  he  tears  not  the  throat  Ha ! 
shall  not  the  War-Manneyto  have  a  feast  ?" 

Sanutee  looked  disquieted,  but  said  nothing,  while  the  eye  of 
Ishiagaska  followed  his  glance  and  seemed  to  search  him  narrowly 
He  spoke  again,  approaching  more  nearly  to  the  person  of  the 


well-beloved  :" 


"  The  Yemassee  hath  gone  on  the  track  of  the  Swift  Foot,  and 
the  English  has  run  beside  him.  They  have  taken  a  name  from 
the  pale-face  and  called  liim  brother.  Brother  is  a  strong  word  for 
Yemassee,  and  he  must  taste  of  his  blood,  or  he  will  not  hunt  after 
the  English.  The  War-Manneyto  would  feast  upon  the  heart  of  a 
pale-face,  to  make  strong  the  young  braves  of  Yemassee." 

"  It  is  good — let  the  War-Manneyto  have  the  feast  upon  the 
heart  of  the  English !"  exclaimed  the  prophet,  and  such  seeming 
the  general  expression,  Sanutee  yielded,  though  reluctantly.  They 
left  the  lodge,  and  in  an  hour  a  small  party  of  young  warriors,  to 
whom,  in  his  wild,  prophetic  manner,  Enoree-Mattee  had  revealed 
the  requisitions  of  the  God  he  served,  went  forth  to  secure  an 
English  victim  for  the  dreadful  propitiatory  sacrifice  they  proposed 
to  offer, — with  the  hope,  by  this  means,  to  render  success  certain, — 
to  the  Indian  Moloch. 

This  done,  the  chiefs  distributed  themselves  among  the  several 
bands  of  the  people  and  their  allies,  stimulating  by  their  arguments 
and  eloquence,  the  fierce  spirit  which  they  how  laboured  to  arouse 
in  storm  and  tempest.  We  leave  them  to  return  to  Harrison. 

12* 


274  THE   YEMASSEE. 

The  adventure  which  he  was  now  engaged  in  was  sufficient!; 
perilous.  He  knew  the  danger,  and  also  felt  that  there  were  par 
ticular  responsibilities  in  his  case  which  increased  it  greatly.  With 
this  consciousness  came  a  proportionate  degree  of  caution.  He 
was  shrewd,  to  a  proverb,  among  those  who  knew  him — practised 
considerably  in  Indian  stratagem — had  been  with  them  in  frequent 
conflict,  and  could  anticipate  their  arts — was  resolute  as  well  as 
daring,  and,  with  much  of  their  circumspection,  had  learned  skil 
fully  to  imitate  the  thousand  devices,  whether  of  warfare  or  of  the 
chase,  which  make  the  glory  of  the  Indian  brave.  Haviag  giverj 
as  fair  a  warning  as  was  in  his  power  to  those  of  his  countrymen 
most  immediately  exposed  to  the  danger,  and  done  all  that  he  could 
to  assure  their  safety  against  the  threatening  danger,  he  was  less 
reluctant  to  undertake  the  adventure.  But  had  he  been  conscious 
of  the  near  approach  of  the  time  fixed  on  by  the  enemy  for  the 
explosion — could  he  have  dreamed  that  the  conspiracy  was  so  ex 
tensive  and  the  outbreak  so  near  at  hand,  his  attitude  would  have 
been  very  different  indeed.  But  this  was  the  very  knowledge,  for 
the  attainment  of  which,  he  had  taken  his  present  journey.  The 
information  sought  was  important  in  determining  upon  the  degree 
of  effort  necessary  for  the  defence,  and  for  knowing  in  what  quarter 
to  apprehend  the  most  pressing  danger. 

It  was  still  early  evening,  when  the  canoe  of  Grayson,  making 
into  a  little  cove  about  a  mile  and  a  half  below  Pocota-ligo. 
enabled  Harrison  to  land.  With  a  last  warning  to  remove  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and  to  urge  as  many  more  as  he  could  to  the 
shelter  of  the  Block  House,  he  left  his.  companion  to  return  to  the 
settlement ;  then  plunging  into  the  woods,  and  carefully  making  a 
sweep  out  of  his  direct  course,  in  order  to  come  in  upon  the  back 
of  the  Indian  town,  so  as  to  avoid  as  much  as  practicable  the  fre 
quented  paths,  he  went  fearlessly  upon  his  '.v ay.  For  some  time, 
proceeding  with  slow  and  heedful  step,  he  went  on  without  intei 
ruption,  yet  not  without  a  close  scrutiny  into  everything  he  saw. 
One  thing  struck  him,  "however,  and  induced  unpleasant  reflection. 
He  saw  that  many  of  the  dwellings  which  he  approached  were 
without  fires,  and  seemed  deserted.  The  inhabitants  were  gone — 
he  met  with  none ;  and  he  felt  assured  that  a  popular  gathering 


THE    YEMASSKE.  275 

was  at  hand  or  i*>  progress.  For  two  miles  of  his  circuit  ho 
encountered  no  sign  of  human  beings ;  and  he  had  almost  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  Pocota-ligo,  which  was  only  a  mile  or  so 
farther,  would  be  equally  barren,  wjien  suddenly  a  torch  flamed 
across  his  path,  and  with  a?*  Indian  instinct  he  sank  back  into  the 
shadow  of  a  tree,  and  scann^  curiously  the  scene  before  him.  The 
torch  grew  into  a  blaze  in  a  he  Dow  of  the  wood,  and  around  the 
fire,  he  beheld,  in  various  position  some  fifteen  or  twenty  warriors, 
making  a  small  war  encampment.  Some  lay  at  length,  some  "  squat, 
like  a  toad,"  and  all  gathered  arourd  the  fiiendly  blaze  which  had 
just  been  kindled  .in  time  to  prevent  him  from  running  headlong 
into  the  midst  of  them.  From  the  co^or  of  the  tree,  which  per 
fectly  concealed  him,  he  could  see  by  tin  light  around  which  they 
clustered,  not  only  the  forms  but  the  features  of  the  warriors ;  and 
he  soon  made  them  out  to  be  a  band  of  his  old  acquaintance,  the 
Coosaws — who,  after  the  dreadful  defeat  which  they  sustained  at 
his  hands  in  the  forks  of  Tullifinee,  found  refuge  with  the  Yemas- 
^ees,  settled  the  village  of  Coosaw-hatchie,  and  bemg  too  small  in 
/lumber  to  call  for  the  further  hostility  of  the  Carolinians,  were 
suffered  to  remain  in  quiet.  But  they  harboured  a  bHtor  malice 
against  their  conquerors,  and  the  call  to  the  field,  with  ?  promisee 
gratification  of  their  long  slumbering  revenges,  was  a  pledge  as 
grateful  as  it  was  exciting  to  their  hearts.  With  a  r.urioiia 
memory  which  recalled  vividly  his  past  adventure  with  the  samo 
people,  he  surveyed  their  diminutive  persons,  their  small,  quick; 
sparkling  eyes,  the  dusky,  but  irritably  red  features,  and  the  queru 
lous  upward  turn  of  the  nose — a  most  distinguishing  feature  \vit> 
this  clan,  showing  a  feverish  quarrelsomeness  of  disposition,  and  f- 
want  of  becoming  elevation  in  purpose.  Harrison  knew  then/ 
well,  and  his  intimacy  had  cost  them  dearly.  It  was  probable, 
indeed,  that  the  fifteen  or  twenty  warriors  then  grouped  before  him 
were  all  that  they  could  send  into  the  field — all  that  had  survived 
women  and  children  excepted,  the  severe  chastisement  which  had 
annihilated  them  as  a  nation.  But  what  they  lacked  in  number 
they  made  up  in  valour — a  fierce,  sanguinary  people,  whose  restless 
habits  and  love  of  strife  were  a  proverb  even  among  their  savage 
neighbours,  who  were  wont  to  describe  a  malignant  man — one  more 


276  THE   YEMASSEE. 

so  than  usual, — as  having  a  Coosaw  tooth.  But  a  sing.e  warrio* 
of  this  party  was  in  possession  of  a  musket,  a  huge  and  cumbrous 
weapon,  of  which  he  seemed  not  a  little  proud.  He  was  probabh 
a  chief.  The  rest  were  armed  with  bow  and  arrow,  knife,  and. 
here  and  there,  a  hatchet.  The  huge  club  stuck  up  conspicuously 
among  them,  besmeared  with  coarse  paint,  and  surmounted  with  a 
human  scalp,  instructed  Harrison  sufficiently  as  to  the  purpose  of 
the  Darty.  The  war-club  carried  from  hand  to  hand,  and  in  this 
way  transmitted  from  tribe  to  tribe,  from  nation  to  nation,  by  their 
swiftest  runners,  was  a  mode  of  organization  not  unlike  that 
employed  by  the  Scotch  for  a  like  object,  and  of  which  the  muse 
of  Scott  has  so  eloquently  sung.  The  spy  was  satisfied  with  the 
few  glances  which  he  gave  to  this  little  party ;  and  as  he  could 
gather  nothing  distinctly  from  their  language,  which  he  heard 
imperfectly,  and  as  imperfectly  understood,  he  cautiously  left  his 
place  of  concealment,  and  once  more  darted  forward  on  his 
journey.  Digressing  from  his  path  as  circumstances  or  prudence 
required,  he  pursued  his  course  in  a  direct  line  towards  Pocota- 
ligo,  but  had  not  well  lost  sight  of  the  fire  of  the  Coosaws,  when 
another  blaze  appeared  in  the  track  just  before  him.  Pursuing  a  liVe 
caution  with  that  already  given,  he  approached  sufficiently  ui-gh  to 
distinguish  a  band  of  Sewees,  something  more  numerous  than  the 
Coosaws,  but  still  not  strong,  encamping  in  like  manner  around 
the  painted  post,  the  common  ensign  of  approaching  battle.  He 
knew  them  by  the  number  of  shells  which  covered  their  garments, 
were  twined  in  their  hair,  and  formed  a  peculiar  and  favourite 
ornament  to  their  persons,  while  at  the  same  time  declaring  theii 
usual  habitat.  They  occupied  one  of  the  islands  which  still  bear 
their  name — the  only  relics  of  a  nation  which  had  its  god  and  its 
glories,  and  believing  in  the  Manneyto  and  the  happy  valley,  can 
have  no  complaint  that  their  old  dwellings  shall  know  them  no 
more.  The  Sewees  resembled  the  Coosaws  in  their  general 
expression  of  face,  but  in  person  they  were  taller  and  more  sym 
metrical,  though  slender.  They  did  not  exceed  thirty  in  number. 
The  precautions  of  Harrison  were  necessarily  increased,  as  he 
found  himself  in  such  a  dangerous  neighbourhood,  but  still  he  fell 
nothing  of  apprehension.  lie  wa^  <  no  <>;'  those  men,  singularly 


THE   YEMASSEE.  277 

constituted,  in  whom  hope  becomes  a  strong  exciting  principle, 
perpetually  stimulating  confidence  and  encouraging  adventure  intc 
a  forgetfulness  of  risk,  and  a  general  disregard  to  difficulty  and 
opposition.  On  he  went,  until,  at  the  very  entrance  to  the  village, 
he  came  upon  an  encampment  of  the  Santees,  a  troop  of  about 
fifty  warriors.  These  he  knew  by  their  greater  size  and  muscle, 
being  generally  six  feet  or  more  in  height,  of  broad  shoulders,  full, 
robust  front,  and  forming — not  less  in  their  countenances,  which 
were  clear,  open,  and  intelligent,  than  in  their  persons — a  singular 
and  marked  contrast  to  the  Sewees  and  Coosaws.  They  carried, 
along  with  the  bow,  another,  and,  in  their  hands,  a  more  formidable 
weapon — a  huge  mace,  four  or  five  feet  in  length,  of  the  heaviest 
wood,  swelling  into  a  large  bulb,  or  knot,  at  the  end.  Thrs  was 
suspended  by  a  thong  of  skin  or  sinews  from  the  necks.  A  gl.rr.ce 
was  enough  to  show  their  probable  number,  and  desiring  no  mo~e, 
Harrison  sank  away  from  further  survey,  and  carefully  avoiding 
the  town,  on  the  skirts  of  which  he  stood,  he  followed  in  the 
direction  to  which  he  was  led  by  a  loud  uproar  and  confused 
clamour  coming  from  the  place.  This  was  the  place  of  general 
encampment,  a  little  above  the  village,  immediately  upon  the  edge 
of  the  swamp  from  which  the  river  wells,  being  the  sacred  ground 
of  Yemassee,  consecrated  to  their  several  Manneytos  of  war,  peace, 
vengeance,  and  general  power — which  contained  the  great  tumulus 
of  Pocota-ligo,  consecrated  by  a  thousand  awful  sacrifices,  for  a 
thousand  years  preceding,  and  already  known  oto  us  as  the  spot 
where  Occonestoga,  saved  from  perdition,  met  his  death  from  the 
hands  of  his  mother. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

"B*ttle-god  Manneyto— 
Here's  a  Rcalp,  'tis  a  scull, 
This  is  blood,  'tis  a  heart, 
Scalp,  scull,  blood,  heart, 

Tis  for  theo,  Maun  yto — 'tis  for  thee,  Manneyto— 
They  shall  make  a  feast  for  thee. 
Battle-god  Manneyto." 

YKMASSEB  V 

THE  preparatory  rites  of  battle  were  about  to  take  place  around 
Jute  tumulus.  The  warriors  were  about  to  propitiate  the  Yemassee 
God  of  War- — the  Battle-Man ney to — and  the  scene  was  now,  if 
possible,  more  imposing  than  ever.  It  was  with  a  due  solemnity 
that  they  approached  the  awful  rites  with  which  they  invoked 
this  stern  principle — doubly  solemn,  as  they  could  not  but  feel 
that  the  existence  of  their  nation  was  the  stake  at  issue.  They 
were  prostrate — the  thousand  warriors  of  Yemassee — their  wives, 
their  children — their  faces  to  the  ground,  but  their  eyes  upward, 
bent  upon  the  cone  of  the  tumulus,  where  a  faint  flame,  dimly 
flickering  under  the  breath  of  the  capricious  winds,  was  struggling 
doubtfully  into  existence.  Enoree-Mattee,  the  prophet,  stood  in 
anxious  attendance — the  only  person  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
fire — for  the  spot  upon  which  he  stood  was  holy.  lie  moved 
around  it,  in  attitudes  now  lofty,  now  grotesque — now  impassioned, 
and  now  humbled — feeding  the  flame  at  intervals  as  he  did  sc 
with  fragments  of  wood,  which  had  be^n  consecrated  by  other 
rites,  and  sprinkling  it,  at  the  same  time,  with  the  dried  leaves  of 
the  native  and  finely  odorous  vanella,  which  diffused  a  grateful 
perfume  upon  the  gale.  All  this  time  he  muttered  a  low,  mono 
tonous  chant,  which  seemed  an  incantation — now  and  then,  at 
pauses  in  his  song,  turning  to  the  gathered  multitude,  over  whose 
heads,  as  they  lay  in  thick  groups  around  the  tumulus,  he  extended 
his  arms  as  if  in  benediction.  The  flame  all  this  while  gathered 


THE    YEMASSEB.  279 

but  slowly,  and  this  was  matter  of  discontent  to  both  prophet  and 
people ;  for  the  gathering  of  the  fire  was  to  indicate  the  satisfaction 
of  the  Manneyto  with  their  proposed  design.  While  its  progress 
was  doubtful,  therefore,  a  silence  entirely  unbroken,  and  full  of 
awe,  prevailed  throughout  the  crowd.  But  when  it  burst  forth, 
growing  and  gathering — seizing  with  a  ravenous  rapidity  upon  the 
sticks  and  stubble  with  which  it  had  been  supplied  • -licking  the 
long  grass  as  it  progressed,  and  running  down  the  sides  of  the 
tumulus,  until  it  completely  encircled  the  savagely  picturesque 
form  of  Enoree-Mattee  as  with  a  wreath  of  lire — when  it  sent  ite 
votive  and  odorous  smoke  in  a  thick,  direct  column,  up  to  the 
heavens — a  single,  unanimous  shout,  that  thrilled  through  and 
through  the  forest,  even  as  the  sudden  uproar  of  one  of  its  owi. 
terrible  hurricanes,  burst  forth  from  that  liow  exhilarated  assembly, 
while  each  started  at  once  to  his  feet,  brandished  his  weapons  witL 
a  fierce  joy,  and  all  united  in  that  wild  chorus  of  mixed  fury  and 
adoration,  the  battle-hymn  of  their  nation  : 

"  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee, 
Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me — 
Battle-god  Manneyto, 
Here's  a  scalp,  here's  a  scull, 
This  is  blood,  'tis  a  heart, 
Scalp,  scull,  blood,  heart, 
Tis  for  thee,  battle-god, 
'Tis  to  make  the  feast  for  thee, 
Battle-god  of  Yemassee  1" 

As  they  repeated  the  wild  chant  of  battle,  at  the  altars  of  then 
w.ir-god,  chorussed  by  the  same  recurring  refrain,  the  sounds  were 
caught  up,  as  so  many  signals,  by  couriers,*  stationed  along  the 
route,  who  conveyed  the  sounds  to  others  yet  beyond.  These  were 
finally  carried  to  the  various  encampments  of  their  allies,  who  only 
waited  to  hear  of  the  blazing  of  the  sacred  fire,  to  understand  that 
they  had  the  permission  of  the  Yemassee  deity  to  appear  and  joir 
in  the  subsequent  ceremonial — a  ceremonial  which  affected  and 
interested  them,  in  the  approaching  conflict,  equally  w'tb  the 
Yemassees. 


280  THE    YEMASSEE. 

I  They  came  at  length,  the  great  body  of  that  fierce  but  motley 
\Aathering.  In  so  many  clans,  each  marched  apart,  with  the  distinct 
emblem  of  its  tribe.  There  came  the  subtle  and  the  active  Coosaw, 
with  his  small  flaming  black  eye,  in  which  gathered  the  most  ma 
lignant  fires.  A  stuffed  rattlesnake  in  coil,  with  protruded  fang, 
perched  npon  si  staff,  formed  their  emblem,  and  no  bad  character 
istic,  for  they  were  equally  fearless  and  equally  fatal  with  that  ivp- 
tile.  Then  came  the  Combahee  and  the  Edistoh,  the  Santec  anJ 
the  Seratee — the  two  latter  kindred  tribes  bearing  huge  clubs,  which 
they  wielded  with  equal  strength  and  agility,  in  addition  to  the 
knife  and  bow.  Another  and  another  cluster  forming  around,  com 
pleted  a  grouping  at  once  imposing  and  unique, — each  body,  as 
they  severally  came  to  behold  the  sacred  fire,  swelling  upwards  from 
the  mound,  precipitating  themselves  upon  the  earth  where  first  it 
met  their  sight.  The  prophet  still  continued  his  incantations,  until, 
at  a  given  signal,  when  Sanutee,  as  chief  of  his  people,  ascended 
.he  tumulus,  and  bending  his  form  reverently  as  he  did  so,  ap 
proached  him  to  know  the  result  of  his  auguries.  The  appearance 
of  the  old  chief  was  haggard  in  the  extreme — his  countenance  bore 
ill  the  traces  of  that  anxiety  which,  at  such  a  moment,  the  true 
patriot  would  be  likely  to  feel — and  a  close  eye  might  discern  evi- 
lences  of  a  deeper  feeling  working  at  his  heart,  equally  vexing  and 
of  a  more  personal  nature.  Still  his  manner  was  firm  and  nobly 
commanding.  He  listened  to  the  words  of  the  prophet,  which 
were  in  their  own  language.  Then  advancing  in  front,  the  chief 
delivered  his  response  to  the  people.  It  was  auspicious — Manueyto 
had  promised  them  success  against  their  enemies,  and  their  offer 
ings  had  all  been  accepted.  He  required  but  another  sacrifice,  and 
the  victim  assigned  for  this,  the  prophet  assured  them,  was  at  hand. 
Again  the  shout  went  up  to  heaven,  and  the  united  warriors  clash 
ed  their  weapons  and  yelled  aloud  the  triumph  which  they  antici 
pated  over  their  foes. 

In  a  neighbouring  copse,  well  concealed  by  the  thicket,  lay 
the  persor-  of  Harrison.  From  this  spot  he  surveyed  the  entire 
proceedings.  With  the  aid  of  their  numerous  fires,  he  was  able 
to  calculate  their  numbers,  and  note  the  different  nations  en 
gaged,  whose  emblems  he  generally  knew.  He  listened  im 


THE    YEMASSEE.  281 

patiently  for  some  evidences  of  their  precise  intention ;  but  as  thej 
spoke  only  in  their  own,  or  a  mixed  language  of  the  several  tribes, 
he  almost  despaired  of  any  discovery  of  this  kind,  which  would 
serve  him  much,  when  a  new  party  appeared  upon  the  scene,  in 
the  person  of  Chorley,  the  captain  of  the  sloop.  He  appeared 
dressed  in  a  somewhat  gaudy  uniform — a  pair  of  pistols  stuck  in 
his  belt — a  troad  short  sword  at  his  side,  and  dagger — arid,  though 
evidently  in  complete  military  array,  without  having  discarded  the 
rich  golden  chain,  which  hung  suspended  ostentatiously  around 
his  thick,  short,  bull-shaped  neck.  The  guise  of  Chorley  was 
Spanish,  and  over  his  head,  carried  by  one  of  his  seamen  in  a 
group  of  twenty  of  them,  which  followed  him,  he  bore  the  flag  of 
Spain.  This  confirmed  Harrison  in  all  his  apprehensions.  He 
saw  that  once  again  the  Spaniard  was  about  to  strike  at  the  colony, 
in  the  assertion  of  an  old  claim  put  in  by  his  monarch  to  all  the 
country  then  in  the  possession  of  the  English,  northward  as  far  as 
Virginia,  and  to  the  southwest  the  entire  range,  including  the 
Mississippi  and  some  portion  even  of  the  territory  beyond  it. 
Such  was  the  vast  ambition  of  nations  in  that  day ; — such  the 
vague  grasp  which  the  imagination  took,  of  geographical  limits 
and  expanse.  In  support  of  this  claim,  which,  under  the  existing-i 
circumstances  of  European  convention,  the  Spanish  monarch  could  I 
not  proceed  to  urge  by  arms  in  any  other  manner — the  two 
countries  being  then  at  peace  at  home — the  governor  of  the  one 
colony,  that  of  Spain,  was  suffered  and  instigated  to  do  that 
which  his  monarch  immediately  dared  not  attempt ;  and  from  St. 
Augustine  innumerable  inroads  were  daily  projected  into  Georgia/ 
and  the  Carolinas:  the  Spaniards,  with  their  Indian  allies, 
penetrating,  in  some  instances,  almost  to  the  gates  of  Charleston. 
The  Carolinians  were  not  idle,  and  similar  inroads  ware  made 
»upon  Florida;  the  two  parent  nations,  looking  composedly  upon  a 
warfare  in  the  colonies,  which  gratified  national  animosity,  with 
out  perilling  national  security,  and  indulged  them  at  a  favourite 
pastime,  in  a  foreign  battle  field  ;  where  they  could  help,  with 
contributions,  their  several  champions,  while  sitting  at  home, 
cheek-by-jowl,  on  terms  of  seeming  amity  and  good  fellowship. 
This  sort  of  warfare  had  been  continued  almost  from  the  com 


THE    rEMASSEE. 

cement  of  either  settlement,  and  the  result  was  a  system  of 
foray  into  the  enemy's  province  from  time  to  time — now  of  the 
Spaniards,  and  now  of  the  Carolinians. 

Harrison  was  soon  taught  to  see  by  the  evidence  before  him, 
that  the  Spaniard,  on  the  presei-t  occasion,  had  more  deeply  ma 
tured  his  plans  than  he  had  ever  anticipated ;  and  that — taking 
advant:ige  of  the  known  discontents  among  the  Indians,  and  of 
that  unwise  cessation  of  watchfulness,  which  too  much  indicated 
the  confiding  nature  of  the  Carolinians,  induced  by  a  term  of 
repose,  protracted  somewhat  longer  than  usual — he  had  prepared 
a  mine  which,  he  fondly  hoped,  and  with  good  reason,  would 
result  in  the  utter  extermination  of  the  intruders,  whom  they 
loved  to  destroy,  as  on  one  sanguinary  occasion  their  own  inscription 
phrased  it,  not  so  much  because  they  were  Englishmen,  but 
"  because  they  were  heretics."  llis  success  in  the  present  adven 
ture,  te  felt  assured,  and  correctly,  would  place  the  entire  province 
in  the  possession,  as  in  his  thought  it  was  already  in  the  right, 
of  1  is  most  Catholic  Majesty. 

Captain  Chorley,  thebucanier  and  Spanish  emissary,  for  in  those 
times  and  that  region,  the  two  characters  were  not  always  unlike, 
advanced  boldly  into  the  centre  of  the  various  assemblage.  He 
was  followed  by  twenty  stout  seamen,  the  greater  part  of  his  crew. 
Thet>e  were  armed  chiefly  with  pikes  and  cutlasses.  A  few  carried 
pistols,  a  few  muskets ;  but  generally  speaking,  the  larger  arms 
seemed  to  have  been  regarded  as  unnecessary,  and  perhaps  incon 
venient,  in  an  affair  requiring  despatch  and  secrecy.  As  he 
approached,  Sanutee  descended  from  the  mound  and  advanced 
towards  him,  with  a  degree  of  respect,  which,  while  it  was  marked 
and  gracious,  subtracted  nothing  from  the  lofty  carriage  and  the 
louring  dignity  which  at  the  same  time  accompanied  it.  In  a 
few  words  of  broken  English,  he  explained  to  Chorley  sundry  of  , 
their  present  and  future  proceedings — detailed  what  was  required 
of  him,  in  the  rest  of  the  ceremony ;  and  having  made  him  un 
derstand,  which  he  did  with  some  difficulty,  he  reascended  the 
mound,  resuming  his  place  at  the  side  of  the  prophet,  who  all  the 
while,  as  if  without  noticing  any  thing  going  on  around,  had  con 
tinued  those  fearful  incantations  to  the  war-god,  which  seemed  to 


THE    YEMASSEE.  283 

make  of  himself  a  victim.  He  was  intoxicated  with  his  own 
spells  and  incantations.  His  eye  glared  with  the  light  of  mad 
ness — his  tongue  hung  forth  between  his  clinched  teeth,  which 
seemed  every  moment,  when  parting  and  gnashing,  as  if  about  to 
sever  it  in  two,  while  the  slaver  gathered  about  his  mouth  in 
thick  foam,  and  all  his  features  were  convulsed.  At  a  signal 
which  he  gave,  while  under  this  fury,  a  long  procession  of  women, 
headed  by  Malatchie,  the  executioner,  made  their  appearance 
from  behind  the  hill,  and  advanced  into  the  area.  In  their  arms 
six  of  them  bore  a  gigantic  figure,  rudely  hewn  out  of  a  tree, 
with  a  head  so  carved  as  in  some  sort  to  resemble  that  of  a  man. 
With  hatchet  and  fire  a  rude  human  face  had  been  wrought  out 
of  the  block,  and  by  means  of  one  paint  or  another,  it  had  been 
stained  into  something  like  expression.  The  scalp  of  some 
slaughtered  enemy  was  stuck  upon  the  skull,  and  made  to  adhere, 
with  pitch  extracted  from  the  pine.  The  body,  from  the  neck, 
was  left  unhewn.  This  figure  was  stuck  up  in  the  midst  of  the 
assembly,  in  the  sight  of  all,  while  the  old  women  danced  in  wild 
contortions  round  it,  uttering,  as  they  did  so,  a  thousand  invectives 
in  their  own  wild  language.  They  charged  it  with  all  offences 
comprised  in  their  system  of  ethics.  It  was  a  liar,  and  a  thief — 
a  traitor,  and  cheat — a  murderer,  and  without  a  Manneyto — in 
short,  in  a  summary  of  their  own — they  called  it  "  English — English 
— English."  Having  done  this,  they  receded,  leaving  the  area 
clear  of  all  but  the  unconscious  image  which  they  had  so  de 
nounced,  ami  sinking  back  behind  the  armed  circle,  they  remained 
for  awhile  in  silence. 

Previously  taught  in  what  he  was  to  do,  Chorley  now  advanced 
alone,  and  striking  a  hatchet  full  in  the  face  of  the  figure,  he 
cried  aloud  to  the  warriors  around : 

"  Hark,  at  this  English  dog !  I  strike  my  hatchet  into  his 
skull.  Who  will  do  thus  for  the  King  of  Spain  3" 

Malatchie  acted  as  interpreter  in  the  present  instance,  and  the 
words  had  scarcely  fallen  from  his  lips,  when  Chiunabee,  a  chief 
of  the  Coosaws,  his  eyes  darting  fire,  and  his  whole  face  full  of 
malignant  delight,  rushed  out  from  his  clan,  and  seizing  the 
hatchet,  followed  up  the  blow  by  another,  which  sunk  it  deepi? 


284  THE   YEMASSEE. 

into  the  unconscious  block,  crying  aloud,  as  he  did  so,  in  his  OWH 
language ; 

"  The  Coosaw, — ha !  look,  he  strikes  the  skull  of  the  English  !" 
and  the  fierce  war-whoop  of  "  Coosaw — Sangarrah-me,"  followed 
up  the  speech. 

"  So  strikes  the  Cherah  ! — Cherah-hah,  Cherah-me  !"  cried  the 
head  warrior  of  that  tribe,  following  the  example  of  the  Coosaw, 
and  sinking  his  hatchet  also  into  the  skull  of  the  image.  Another 
and  another,  in  like  manner  came  forward,  each  chief,  representing 
a  tribe  or  nation,  being  required  to  do  so,  showing  his  assent  to 
the  war ;  until,  in  a  moment  of  pause,  believing  that  all  were 
done,  Chorley  reapproached,  and  baring  his  cutlass  as  he  did  so, 
with  a  face  full  of  the  passion  which  one  might  be  supposed  to 
exhibit,  when  facing  a  deadly  and  a  living  foe,  with  a  single  stroke 
he  lodged  the  weapon  so  deeply  into  the  wood,  that  for  a  while 
its  extrication  was  doubtful — at  the  same  time  exclaiming  fiercely  : 

"  And  so  strikes  Richard  Chorley,  not  for  Spain,  nor  France, 
nor  Indian — not  for  any  body,  but  on  his  own  log — for  his  own 
wrong,  and  so  would  he  strike  again  if  the  necks  of  all  England 
lay  under  his  arm." 

""  A  strong  armed  Santee,  who  had  impatiently  waited  his  turn 
while  Chorley  spoke,  now  came  forward  with  his  club — a  mon 
strous  mace,  gathered  from  the  swamps,  under  the  stroke  of  which 
the  image  went  down  prostrate.  Its  fall  was  the  signal  for  a 
general  shout  and  tumult  among  the  crowd-,  scarcely  quieted,  as  a 
new  incident  was  brought  in  to  enliven  a  performance,  which, 
though  of  invariable  exercise  among  the  primitive  Indians,  prepa 
ratory  to  all  great  occasions  like  the  present,  was  yet  too  monot-o- 
DOUS  not  to  need  in  the  end  some  stirring  variation. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

11  And  war  is  the  great  Moloch  ;  foi  his  feast, 
Gather  the  human  victims  he  requires, 
With  an  unjlutted  appetite.     He  makes 
Earth  his  grand  table,  spread  with  winding-sheet*, 
Man  his  attendant,  who,  with  madness  fit,' 
Serves  his  own  brother  up,  nor  heeds  the  prayer, 
Groaned  by  a  kindred  nature,  for  reprieve." 

BLOOD  makes  the  taste  for  blood — we  teach  the  hound  to 
hunt  the  victim,  for  whose  entrails  he  acquires  an  appetite.  We 
acquire  such  tastes  ourselves  from  like  indulgences.  There  is  a 
sort  of  intoxicating  restlessness  in  crime  that  seldom  suffers  it  to 
stop  at  a  solitary  excess.  It  craves  repetition — and  the  relish  so 
expands  with  indulgence,  that  exaggeration  becomes  essential  to 
make  it  a  stimulant.  Until  we  have  created  this  appetite,  we 
sicken  at  its  bare  contemplation.  But  once  created,  it  is  hnpadent 
of  employment,  and  it  is  wonderful  to  note  its  progress.  Thus, 
the  young  Nei^  wept  when  first  called  upon  to  sign  the  warrant 
commanding  the  execution  of  a  criminal.  But  the  ice  once 
broken,  he  ne.ver  suffered  it  to  close  again.  Murder  was  his  com 
panion — blood  his  banquet — his  chief  stimulant  licentiousness — 
norrible  licentiousness.  lie  had  found  out  a  new  luxury. 

The  philosophy  which  teaches  this,  is  common  to  experience  all 
the  world  over.  It  was  not  unknown  to  the  Yemassees.  Dis 
trusting  the  strength  of  their  hostility  to  the  English,  the  chief  . 
instigators  of  the  proposed  insurrection,  as  we  have  seen,  deemed 
it  necessary  to  appeal  to  this  appetite,  along  with  a  native  super 
stition.  Their  battle-god  called  for  a  victim,  and  the  prophet  pro 
mulgated  the  decree.  A  chosen  band  of  warriors  was  despatched 
to  secure  a  white  man  ;  and  in  subjecting  him  to  the  fire-torture., 
the  Yemassees  were  to  feel  the  provocation  of  that  thirsting  im 
pulse  winch  craves  a  continual  renewal  of  its  stimulating  indul 
gence.  Perhaps  one  of  the  most  natural  and  necessity  agents  ol 


286  THE    YEMASSEE. 

r~     man,  in  bis  progress  through  life,  is  the  desire  to  destroy.     It  is 

this  which  subjects  the  enemy — it  is   this  that  prompts  him  to 

adventure — which   enables   him  to  contend  with  danger,  and   to 

flout  at  death — which    carries  him   into    the  interminable  forest 

and  impels  the  ingenuity  into  exercise  which  furnishes  him  with  a 

{ \     weapon  to  contend  with  its  savage  possessors.     It  is  not  surprising, 

if,  prompted  by  dangerous  influences,  in  our  ignorance,  we  pamper 

j   this  natural    agent   into  a  disease,  which  jreys  at   length   upon 

/   ourselves. 

The  party  despatched  for  this  victim  had  been  successful.  The 
peculiar  cry  was,  at  length,  heard  from  the  thickets,  indicating 
their  success  ;  and  as  it  rang  through  the  wide  area,  the  crowd 
gave  way  and  parted  for  the  new  comers,  who  were  hailed  with  a 
degree  of  satisfaction,  extravagant  enough,  unless  we  consider  the 
importance  generally  attached  by  the  red-men  to  the  requisitions 
of  the  prophet,  and  the  propitiation  of  their  war-god.  It  was  on 
the  possession  and  sacrifice  of  a  living  victim,  that  they  rested 
their  hope  of  victory  in  the  approaching  conflict.  Such  was  the 
prediction  of  the  prophet — such  the  decree  of  their  god  of  war — 
and  for  the  due  celebration  of  this  terrible  sacrifice,  the  preparatory 
ceremonies  had  been  delayed. 

They  were  delayed  no  longer.  With  shrill  cries,  and  the  most 
savage  contortions,  not  to  say  convulsions  of  body,  the  assembled 
multitude  hailed  the  entree  of  the  detachment  sent  forth  upon  this 
expedition.  They  had  been  eminently  successful ;  having  taken 
their  captive,  without  themselves  losing  a  drop  of  blood.  Upon 
this,  the  prediction  had  founded  their  success.  Not  so  the  prisoner. 
Though  unarmed,  he  had  fought  desperately,  and  his  enemies  were 
compelled  to  wound  in  order  to  secure  him.  lie  was  only  over 
come  by  numbers,  and  the  sheer  physical  weight  of  their  crowding 
bodies. 

They  dragged  him  into  the  ring,  the  war-dance  all  the  time 
going  on  around  him.  From  the  copse,  close  at  hand,  in  which 
he  lay  concealed,  Harrison  could  distinguish,  at  intervals,  the 
features  of  the  captive.  He  knew  him  at  a  glance,  as  a  poor 
labourer,  named  Macnamara,  an  Irishman,  who  had  gone  jobbing 
about,  in  various  ways,  throughout  the  settlement  He  was  a  fine- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  287 

locking,  fresh,  muscular  man — not  more  than  thirty.  Surrounded 
by  howling  savages,  threatened  with  a  death  the  most  terrible,  the 
brave  fellow  sustained  himself  with  the  courage  and  firmness 
which  belongs  so  generally  to  his  countrymen.  His  long,  black 
hair,  deeply  saturated  and  matted  with  his  blood,  which  oozed  out 
from  sundry  bludgeon-wounds  upon  the  head,  was  wildly  distri 
buted  in  masses  over  his  face  and  forehead.  His  full,  round 
cheeks,  were  marked  by  knife-wounds,  the  result  also  of  his  fierce 
defence  against  his  captors.  His  hands  were  bound,  but  his  tongue 
was  unfettered ;  and  as  they  danced  and  howled  about  him,  his 
eye  gleamed  forth  in  fury  and  derision,  while  his  words  were  those 
of  defiance  and  contempt. 

"  Ay !  ye  may  screech  and  scream,  ye  red  divils — ye'd  be  after 
seeing  how  a  jontleman  would  burn  in  the  fire,  would  ye,  for  your 
idification  and  delight.  But  it's  not  Teddy  Macnamara,  that  your 
fires  and  your  arrows  will  iver  scare,  ye  divils ;  so  begin,  boys,  as 
soon  as  ye've  a  mind  to,  and  don't  be  too  dilicate  in  your  doings." 

He  spoke  a  language,  so  far  as   they  understood  it,  perfectly  \ 
congenial  with   their  notion   of  what  should  become  a  warrior.  1 
His  fearless  contempt  of  death,  his  haughty  defiance  of  their  skill  / 
in  the  arts  of  torture — his  insolent  abuse — were  all  so  much  in  his  I 
favour.     They  were   proofs  of  the    true  brave,  and  they  found, 
under  the  bias  of  their  habits  and  education,  an  added  pleasure 
in  the  belief,  that  he  would  stand  well  the  torture,  and  afford 
them  a  protracted  enjoyment  of  the  spectacle.     His  execrations, 
poured   forth   freely   as    they   forced   him    into   the    area,    were 
equivalent  to  cue  of  their  own   death-songs,  and  they  regarded 
it  as  his. 

He  was  not  so  easily  compelled  in  the  required  direction.  Un 
able  in  any  other  way  to  oppose  them,  he  gave  them  as  much 
trouble  as  he  could,  and  in  no  way  sought  to  promote  his  own 
progress.  This  was  good  policy,  perhaps;  for  this  passive  resistance 
— the  most  annoying  of  all  its  forms, — was  not  unlikely  to  bring 
about  an  impatient  blow,  which  might  save  him  from  the  torture. 
In  another  case,  such  might  have  been  the  result  of  the  course 
taken  by  Macnamara ;  but  now,  the  prophecy  was  too  important 
un  object ;  and  the  red  mon  can  be  politic  enough  in  their  passions 


288  THE   YEMASSEE. 

when  they  will.  Though  they  handled  him  roughly  enough,  his 
captors  yet  forbore  any  excessive  violence.  Under  a  shower  of 
kicks,  cuffs,  and  blows  from  every  quarter,  the  poor  fellow, 
still  cursing  them  to  the  last,  hissing  at  and  spitting  upon  them, 
was  forced  to  a  tree;  and  in  a  few  moments  tightly  lashed  back 

against  it.     A  thick  cord  secured  him  around  the  body  to  its  over- 

* 
grown  trunk,  while  his  hands,  forced  up  in  a  direct  line  above  his 

head,  were  fastened  to  the  tree  with  withes — the  two  palms  turned 
outwards,  nearly  meeting,  and  so  well  corded  as  to  be  perfectly 
immovable. 

A  cold  chill  ran  through  all  the  veins  of  Harrison,  and  he  grasp 
ed  his  knife  with  a  clutch  as  tenacious  as  that  of  his  fast-clinched 
teeth,  while  he  looked,  from  his  place  of  concealment,  upon  these 
dreadful  preparations  for  the  Indian  torture.  The  captive  was 
seemingly  less  sensible  of  its  terrors.  All  the  while,  with  a  tongue 
that  seemed  determined  to  supply,  so  far  as  it  might,  the  forced 
inactivity  of  all  other  members,  he  shouted  forth  .his  scorn  and 
execrations. 

"  The  pale-face  will  sing  his  death-song,"  cried  a  young  warrior 
in  the  ears  of  the  victim,  as  he  flourished  his  tomahawk  around  his 
head.  The  sturdy  Irishman  did  not  comprehend  the  language,  but 
he  did  the  action,  and  his  answer  seemed  a  full  compliance  with 
the  requisitions.  His  speech  was  a  shout  or  scream,  and  his  words 
were  those  of  desperate  defiance. 

"  Ay,  ye  miserable  red  nagers, — ye  don't  frighten  Teddy  Mac- 
namara  now  so  aisily.  He  is  none  of  yer  spalpeens,  honies,  to  be 
frightened  by  your  bows  and  your  pi nted  sticks,  ye  red  nagers.  It 
isn't  your  knives,  nor  your  hatchets,  that's  going  to  make  Teddy 
beg  yer  pardon,  and  ax  for  yer  marcies.  I  don't  care  for  y«ur 
knives,  and  your  hatchets,  at  all  at  all,  ye  red  divils.  Not  I — by 
my  faith,  and  my  own  ould  father,  that  was  a  Teddy  before  me." 

They  took  him  at  his  word,  and  «their  preparations  were  soon 
made  for  the  torture.  A  hundred  torches  of  the  gummy  pine  were 
placed  to  kindle  in  a  neighbouring  fire — a  hundred  old  women  stood 
(•«•;!.  ly  to  employ  them.  These  were  to  be  applied  as  a  sort  of 
cautery,  to  the  arrow  and  knife-wounds  which  the  more  youthful 
savages  were  expected,  in  their  sports,  to  inflict.  It  was  upon  theii 


THE    YEMASSEE.  289 

captives,  in  this  manner,  that  the  youth  of  the  nation  was  practised. 
It  was  in  this  school  that  the  boys  were  prepared  to  become  rnep — > 
to  inflict  pain  as  well  as  to  submit  to  it.  To  these  two  classes, — 
for  this  was  one  of  the  peculiar  features  of  the  Indian  torture, — the 
fire-sacrifice,  in  its  initial  penalties,  was  commonly  assigned ;  ana 
both  of  them  were  ready  at  hand  to  engage  in  it.  How  beat  the 
heart  of  Harrison  with  confliciing  emotions,  in  the  shelter  of  the 
adjacent  bush,  as  he  surveyed  each  step  in  the  prosecution  of  these 
horrors ! 

They  began.     A  dozen  youth,  none  over  sixteen,  came  forward 
and  ranged  themselves  in  front  of  the  prisoner. 

"  And  for  what  do  ye  face  me  down  after  that  sort,  ye  dirty  little  1  >V^ 
red  nag'ers  ?"  cried  the  sanguine  prisoner. 

They  answered  him  with  a  whoop — a  single  shriek,  and  the  face 
of 'the  brave  fellow  paled  then,  for  a  moment,  with  that  tudden 
yell — that  mere  promise  of  the  war — the  face  which  had  not  paled 
in  the  actual  conflict  through  which  he  had  already  gone.  But  it 
was  for  a  moment  only,  and  he  nerved  himself  for  the  proper  en 
durance  of  the  more  dreadful  trials  which  were  to  succeed  and  from 
which  there  was  no  escape.  The  whoop  of  the  young  savages  was 
succeeded  by  a  simultaneous  discharge  of  all  their  arrows,  aimed, 
as  would  appear  from  the  result,  only  at  those  portions  of  his  per 
son  which  were  not  vital.  This  was  the  common  exercise,  and 
their  adroitness  was  wonderful.  They  placed  the  shaft  where  they 
pleased.  Thus,  the  arrow  of  one  penetrated  one  palm,  while  that 
of  another,  almost  at  the  same  instant,  was  driven  deep  into  the 
other.  One  cheek  was. grazed  by  a  third,  while  a  fourth  scarified 
the  opposite.  A  blunted  shaft  struck  the  victim  full  in  the  mouth, 
and  arrested,  in  the  middle,  his  usual  execration — "  Ye  bloody  red 
nagers  !"  and  there  never  were  fingers  of  a  hand  so  evenly  separated  * 
one  from  the  other,  as  those  of  Macnamara,  by  the  admirably-aimed 
arrows  of  those  embryo  warriors-;  But  the  endurance  of  the  captive 
was  proof  against  all  their  torture  ;  and  while  every  member  of  his 
person  attested  the  felicity  of  their  aim,  he  still  continued  to  shout 
his  abuse,  not  only  to  his  immediate  assailants,  but  to  the  old  war 
riors,  and  the  assembled  multitude,  gathering  around,  and  looking 
composedly  on — now  approving  this  or  that  peculiar  hit,  and 

13 


290  THE    YEMASSEE. 

encouraging  the  young  beginner  with  a  cheer.  He  bore  all  hi* 
tortures  with  the  most  unflinching  fortitude,  and  a  courage  that, 
extorting  their  freest  admiration,  was  quite  as  much  the  subject  of 
'^heer  with  the  warriors  as  were  the  arrow-shots  which  sometimes 
provoked  its  exhibition. 

At  length,  throwing  aside  the  one  instrument,  the  young  warriors 
came  forward  with  the  tomahawk.  They  were  far  more  cautious 
in  the  use  of  this  fatal  weapon,  for,  as  their  present  object  was  not 
less  the  prolonging  of  their  own  exercise  than  of  the  prisoner's 
tortures,  it  was  their  wish  to  avoid  wounding  him  fatally  or  even 
severely.  Their  chief  delight  was  in  stinging  the  captive  into  an 
exhibition  of  imbeol-e  and  fruitless  anger,  or  terrifying  him  into 
ludicrous  apprehensions.  They  had  no  hope  of  the  latter  source 
of  amusement  from  the  firmness  of  the  victim  before  them ;  and  to 
rouse  his  impotent  rage,  was  the  chief  study  in  their  thought. 

With  words  of  mutual  encouragement,  and  boasting,  garrulously 
enough,  each  of  his  superior  skill,  they  strove  to  rival  one  another 
in  the  nicety  of  their  aim  and  execution.  The  chief  object  now, 
was  barely  to  miss  the  part  at  which  they  aimed.  One  planted 
the  tomahawk  in  the  tree  so  directly  over  the  head  of  his  captive,  as 
to  divide  the  huge  tuft  of  hair  winch  stood  up  massively  in  that 
quarter :  and  great  was  their  exultation  and  loud  their  laughter, 
when  the  head  thus  jeoparded,  very  naturally,  under  the  momen 
tary  impulse,  was  writhed  about  from  the  stroke,  just  at  the  mo 
ment  when  another  hatchet,  aimed  to  lie  on  one  side  of  his  cheek, 
«love  the  ear  which  it  would  have  barely  escaped  had  the  captive 
continued  immovable.  Bleeding  and  suffering  from  these  blows 
and  hurts,  not  a  solitary  groan  however  escaped  the  victim.  The 
stout-hearted  Irishman  continued  to  defy  and  to  denounce  his  tor 
mentors  in  language  which,  if  only  partially  comprehended  by  his 
enemies,  was  yet  illustrated,  with  sufficient  animation,  by  the  fierce 
light  gleaming  from  his  eye  with  a  blaze  like  that  of  madness,  and 
in  the  unblenching  firmness  of  his  cheek. 

"  And  what  for  do  ye  howl,  ye  red-skinned  divils,  as  if  ye  nevei 
seed  a  jontleman  in  the  troubles,  in  all  yer  born  days  before?  Be 
aisy,  now,  and  shoot  away  with  your  pinted  sticks,  ye  nagers, — 
ihoot  away  and  bad  luck  to  ye,  ye  spalpeens;  sure  it  isn't  Tedd  Mac- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  291 

narnara  that's  afeerd  of  what  ye  can  do,  ye  red  divils.  If  it's  the  ma 
ye'r  after  now,  honeys, — the  sport  that's  something  like — why,  put 
your  knife  over  this  thong,  and  help  this  dilicate  little  fist  to  one 
of  the  bit  shilalahs  yonder.  Do  now,  pretty  crathers,  do — and  see 
what  fun  will  come  out  of  it.  Ye'll  not  be  after  loving  it  at  all, 
at  all,  I'm  thinking,  ye  monkeys,  and  ye  alligators,  and  ye  red 
nagers ;  and  them's  the  best  names  for  ye,  ye  ragamuffin  divils 
that  ye  are." 

There  was  little  intermission  in  his  abuse.  It  kept  due  pace 
with  their  tortures,  which,  all  this  time,  continued.  The  toma 
hawks  continued  to  whiz  about  him  on  every  side  ;  and  each  close 
approximation  of  the  instrument  only  called  from  him  a  newer  sort 
of  curse.  Harrison  was  more  than  once  prompted  to  rush  forth 
desperately,  at  all  hazards,  in  the  hope  to  rescue  the  fearless  cap 
tive.  His  noble  hardihood,  his  fierce  courage,  his  brave  defiance, 
commanded  all  the  sympathies  of  the  concealed  spectator.  But  he 
had  to  withstand  them.  It  would  have  been  madness  and  useless 
self-sacrifice,  to  have  shown  himself  at  such  a  moment,  and  the 
game  was  suffered  to  proceed  without  interruption. 

It  happened,  however,  as  it  would  seem  in  compliance  with  a 
part  of  one  of  the  demands  of  the  captive  that  one  of  the  toma 
hawks,  thrown  so  as  to  rest  betwixt  his  two  uplifted  palms,  fell 
short,  and  striking  the  hide,  a  few  inches  below,  which  fastened  his 
wrists  to  the  tree,  entirely  separated  it,  and  gave  freedom  to  his 
arms.  Though  still  incapable  of  any  effort  for  his  release,  as  the 
thongs  tightly  girded  his  body,  arid  were  connected  on  the  other 
side  of  the  tree,  the  fearless  sufferer,  with  his  freed  fingers,  proceeded 
to  pluck  from  his  body,  amid  a  shower  of  darts,  the  arrows  which 
had  penetrated  him  in  every  part.  These,  with  a  shout  of  defiance, 
he  hurled  back  towards  his  assailants,  they  answering  in  similar 
style  with  another  shout  arid  a  new  discharge  of  arrows,  which 
again  penetrated  his  person  in  every  direction,  inflicting  the  greatest 
pain,  though  carefully  avoiding  any  vital  region.  And  now  as  if 
impatient  of  their  forbearance,  the  boys  were  made  to  give  way, 
and,  each  armed  with  her  hissing  and  resinous  torch,  the  old  wo 
men  approached,  howling  and  dancing,  with  shrill  Foices  and  an 
action  of  body  frightfully  demoniac.  One  after  another,  thej 


292  THE    YEMASSEE. 

rushed  up  to  the  prisoner,  and,  with  fiendish  fervour,  thrust  the 
blazing  torches  to  his  shrinking  body,  wherever  a  knife,  an  arrowi 
or  a  tomahawk  had  left  a  wound.  The  torture  of  this  infliction 
greatly  exceeded  all  to  which  he  had  been  previously  subjected ; 
and  with  a  howl,  the  unavoidable  acknowledgment  forced  from 
nature  by  the  extremity  of  pain,  scarcely  less  horrible  than  that 
which  they  unitedly  sent  up  around  him,  the  captive  dashed  out 
his  hands,  and  grasping  one  of  the  most  forward  among  his  un- 
sexed  tormentors,  he  firmly  held  her  with  one  hand,  while  with 
the  other  he  possessed  himself  of  the  blazing  torch  which  she 
bore.  Hurling  her  backwards,  in  the  next  moment,  among  the 
crowd  of  his  enemies,  with  a  resolution  from  despair,  he  applied 
the  torch  to  the  thongs  which  bound  him  to  the  tree  and  while 
his  garments  shrivelled  and  flamed,  and  while  the  flesh  was  blis 
tered  and  burned  with  the  terrible  application,  resolute  as  desperate, 
he  kept  the  flame  riveted  to  the  suffering  part,  until  the  vvythes 
that  fastened  his  body  to  the  tree,  began  to  crackle,  to  blaze  in  him, 
and  finally  to  break  and  separate  ! 

His  limbs  were  free.  There  was  life  and  hope  in  the  conscious 
ness.  A  tide  of  fresh  and  buoyant  emotions,  actually  akin  to  joy, 
rushed  through  his  bosom,  and  he  shouted  aloud,  with  a  cry  of 
delight  and  exu'tation,  in  the  consciousness  of  freedom  from  bonds 
and  a  situation  which  had  been  a  mockery  to  the  manhood  and 
courage  in  his  soul.  He  bounded  forward  with  the  cry.  His  gar 
ments  were  on  fire.  The  flames  curled  over  him,  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  feel  or  fear  them.  While  the  red  warriors  wondered,  not 
knowing  what  to  expect,  he  still  further  confounded  them  by  that 
over  head  and  heels  evolution  which  is  called  the  somersault, 
which  carried  him,  a  mass  of  fire,  into  the  centre  of  a  crowded 
circle  of  men,  boys,  and  women.  This  scattered  them  in  wild 
confusion.  A  few  blows  were  struck  at  him  aimlessly  by  warrior? 
as  they  darted  aside ;  but  they  left  him  free,  and  with  a  cleai 
track.  The  blazing  mass  was  a  surprise  and  terror,  and  the  captive 
rolled  over  with  impunity,  the  flames  being  soon  extinguished  in 
the  long  green  grasses  of  the  plain.  Sore,  scorched,  suffering,  he 
rose  to  his  feet,  shook  out  his  hands  in  defiance,  and  with  a  wild 
yell,  not  unworthy  to  have  issued  from  the  throats  of  the  savage* 


THE    YEMASSEE.  293 

themselves,  the  captive  darted  away  in  flight,  and,  for  a  moment, 
without  any  obstacle  to  freedom. 

But  the  hope  was  short-lived  in  the  bosom  of  the  fugitive.  The 
old  warriors  now  took  up  the  cudgels.  They  had  suffered  the  boys 
to  enjoy  their  sports,  which,  but  for  this  unexpected  event,  might 
have  continued  much  longer;  but  they  were  not  willing  to  lose 
the  victim  decreed  for  sacrifice.  As  Macnamara  darted  away,  they 
threw  the  youth  out  of  the  path,  and  dashed  after  him  in  pursuit. 
Escape  was  impossible,  even  had  the  Irishman  possessed  the  best 
legs  in  the  world.  The  plain  was  filled  with  enemies,  and  though 
the  forest  lay  immediately  beside  it,  and  though  the  necessities  as 
well  as  instincts  of  the  fugitive  prompted  him  to  seek  its  immediate 
shelter,  yet  how  should  he  escape  so  many  pursuers,  and  these 
men  born  of  the  forest  thickets  ?  They  were  soon  upon  his  heels 
The  poor  fellow  was  still  singularly  vigorous.  He  possessed  rart 
powers  of  endurance,  and  his  hurts  were  those  of  the  flesh  only, 
many  of  them  only  skin  deep,  liis  very  tortures  pVoved  so  many 
spurs  and-  goads  to  flight,  lie  was  covered  with  blisters ;  and  the 
arrow  smarts  were  stinging  him  in  arms,  and  thighs,  and  legs,  like 
so  many  scarificators.  But  the  effect  was  to  work  up  his  mind  to 
a  fearful  energy ;  despair  endowing  him  with  a  strength  which, 
under  no  other  condition,  he  could  have  displayed.  Very  desperate 
was  his  attempt  at  flight.  lie  shouted  as  he  'lied.  He  dashed 
away  right  and  left ;  narrowly  grazing  the  0Teat  pine, — barely 
dodging  the  branches  of  the  umbrageous  and  low-spreading  oak, 
and  bounding  over  bush  and  log  with  the  fleetness  of  the  antelope. 
He  used  his  newly-won  freedom  nimbly,  and  with  wonderful 
exercise  of  agility  and  muscle  ;  but  was  doomed  to  use  it  vainly. 
He  could  not  escape ;  but  he  might  involve  another  in  his  fear 
ful  fate !  His  headlong  flight  conducted  him  to  the  very  coppice 
in  which  Harrison  lay  concealed ! 

The  cavalier  beheld  his  peril  from  this  unexpected  cause  of 
danger;  but  there  was  no  retreat  or  evasion.  The  event  had 
occurred  too  suddenly.  He  prepared  for  the  result  with  the 
utmost  possible  coolness.  He  drew  his  knife  and  kept  close  to 
the  cover  of  the  fallen  tree  alongside  of  which  he  had  laid  hitn- 
Kjlf  down.  Had  tno  flying  Macnamara  seen  this  tree  so  aa  to 


294  THE   YEMASSEE. 

avoided  it,  Harrisoii  might  still  have  maintained  his  concealment, 
But  the  fugitive,  unhappily,  looked  out  for  no  such  obstruction, 
lie  thought  only  of  flight,  and  his  legs  were  exercised  at  the 
expense  of  his  eyes.  A  long-extended  branch,  shooting  out  from 
the  tree,  interposed,  and  he  saw  it  not.  His  feet  were  suddenly 
entangled,  and  he  fell  between  the  arm  and  the  trunk  of  the  tree. 
Before  he  could  rise  or  recover,  his  pursuers  were  upon  him.  He 
had  half  gained  his  feet ;  and  one  of  his  hands,  in  promoting  this 
object,  rested  upon  the  tree  itself,  on  the  opposite  side  of  which 
Harrison  lay  quiet,  while  the  head  of  Macnamara  was  just  rising 
above  it.  At  that  moment  a  tall  chief  of  the  Seratees,  with  a 
huge  club,  dashed  the  now  visible  skull  down  upon  the  trunk.  The 
blow  was  fatal — the  victim  uttered  not  even  a  groan,  and  the 
spattering  brains  were  driven  wide,  and  into  the  upturned  face  of 
Harrison. 

There  was  no  more  concealment  for  the  latter  after  that,  and,  start 
ing  to  his  feet,  in  another  moment  his  knife  was  thrust  deep  into  the 
bosom  of  the  astonished  Seratee,  before  he  had  resumed  the  swing 
of  his  ponderous  weapon.  The  Indian  sank  back,  with  a  single 
cry,  upon  those  who  followed  him — half  paralysed,  with  himself, 
at  the  new  enemy  whom  they  had  conjured  up.  But  their  panic 
was  momentary,  and  the  next  instant  saw  fifty  of  them  crowdino- 
upon  the  Englishman.  He  placed  himself  against  a  tree,  hopeless, 
but  determined  to  struggle  to  the  last.  But  he  was  surrounded  in 
a  moment — his  arms  pinioned  from  behind,  and  knives  from  all 
quarters  glittering  around  him,  and  aiming  at  his  breast.  What 
might  have  been  his  fate  under  the  excitement  of  the  scene  and 
circumstances  may  easily  be  conjectured,  for  the  red  men  were 
greatly  excited — they  had  tasted  blood ;  and,  already,  the  brother 
of  the  Seratee  chief — a  chief  himself, — had  rushed  into  the  circle, 
and  with  uplifted  mace,  was  about  to  assert  his  personal  claim  to 
revenge  the  death  of  his  brother — a  claim  which  all  others  were 
prepared  to  yield.  But,  fortunately  for  the  captive,  there  were 
other  motives  of  action  among  the  red  men  beside  revenge.  The 
threatened  death  by  the  mace  of  the  Seratee  was  arrested — the 

w  was  averted — the  weapon  stricken  aside  and  intercepted  by 
huge  staff  of  no  less  a  person  than  the  prophet 


THE    YEMASSEE.  296 

"  He  is  mine — the  ghost  of  Chaharattee,  my  brother,  is  waiting 
for  that  of  his  murderer.  I  must  hang  his  teeth  on  my  neck," 
was  the  fierce  cry,  in  his  own  language,  of  the  surviving  Seratee, 
when  his  weapon  was  thus  arrested.  But  the  prophet  had  hia 
answer  in  a  sense  not  to  be  withstood  by  the  superstitious  savage 

"  Does  the  prophet  speak  for  himself  or  for  Manneyto  ?  Is 
Manneyto  a  woman  that  we  may  say,  Wherefore  thy  word  to  the 
prophet?  Has  not  Manneyto  spoken,  and  will  not  the  chief 
obey  ?  Lo !  this  is  our  victim,  and  the  words  of  Manneyto  are 
truth.  He  hath  said  one  victim — one  English  for  the  sacrifice, — 
and  but  one  before  we  sing  the  battle-song — before  we  go  on  the 
war-path  of  our  enemies.  Is  not  his  word  truth?  This  blood 
savs  it  is  truth.  We  may  not  slay  another,  but  on  the  red  trail 
of  the  English.  The  knife  must  be  drawn  and  the  tomahawk 
lifted  on  the  ground  of  the  enemy,  but  the  land  of  Manneyto  is 
holy,  unless  for  his  sacrifice.  Thou  must  not  strike  the  captive. 
He  is  captive  to  the  Yemassee." 

"  He  is  the  captive  to  the  brown  lynx  of  Seratee — is  he  not 
under  his  club  ? "  was  the  fierce  reply. 

"  Will  the  Seratee  stand  up  against  Manneyto  ?  Hear  1  That 
is  his  voice  of  thunder,  and  see,  the  eye  which  he  sends  forth  in 
the  lightning ! " 

The  auspicious  bursting  of  the  cloud  at  that  moment — the  vivid 
flashes  which  lightened  up  the  heavens  and  the  forest  with  a  blind 
ing  glory,  seemed  to  confirm  the  solemn  claim  of  the  prophet. 
Sullenly  the  Seratee  chief  submitted  to  the  power  which  he  might 
not  openly  withstand.  But  baffled  in  his  attempt  on  the  life  of 
the  prisoner,  he  yet  claimed  him  as  his  captive,  and  demanded 
possession  of  him.  But  to  this  the  prophet  had  his  answer  also. 

"  He  is  the  captive  of  the  Manneyto  of  the  Yemassee ;  on  the 
ground  sacred  to  Manneyto." 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

"Cords  for  the  warrior — he  shall  see  the  fray 
ilia  arm  shall  share  not — a  worse  doom  than  death, 
For  him  whose  heart,  at  every  stroke,  must  bleed— 
Whose  fortune  is  the  stake,  mid  vet  denied 
All  throw  to  win  it." 

THERE  was  no  resisting  this  decree  of  the  Prophet.  The  Seratee 
chief  was  silenced.  The  people  were  submissive.  They  were 
given  to  understand  that  their  new  captive  was  to  be  reserved  for 
the  sacrifice  at  the  close  of  the  campaign,  when,  as  they  con 
fidently  expected,  they  were  to  celebrate  their  complete  victory 
over  the  Carolinians.  Meanwhile,  he  was  taken  back,  and  under 
proper  custodians,  to  the  place  where  the  ceremonies  were  still  to 
he  continued.  The  war-dance  was  begun  in  the  presence  of  the 
prisoner.  He  looked  down  upon  the  preparations  for  a  conflict,  no 
longer  doubtful,  between  the  savages  and  his  people.  He  watched 
their  movements,  heard  their  arrangements,  saw  their  direction, 
knew  their  design,  yet  had  no  power  to  strike  in  for  the  succour  or 
the  safety  of  those  in  whom  only  he  lived.  What  were  his  emo 
tions  in  that  survey  ?  Who  shall  describe  them  ? 

Hhey  began  the  war-dance,  the  young  warriors,  the  boys,  and 
women — that  terrible  but  fantastic  whirl — regulated  by  occasional 
strokes  upon  the  uncouth  drum  and  an  attenuated  blast  from  the 
more  flexible  native  bugle.  That  dance  of  death — a  dance,  which, 
perfectly  military  in  its  character,  calling  for  every  possible  position 
or  movement  common  to  Indian  strategy,  moves  them  all  with  an 
extravagant  sort  of  grace ;  and  if  contemplated  without  reference 
to  the  savage  purposes  which  it  precedes,  is  singularly  pompous 
and  imposing ;  wild,  it  is  true,  but  yet  exceedingly  unaffected  arid 
easy,  as  it  is  one  of  the  most  familiar  practices  of  Indian  education. 
In  this  way,  by  extreme  physical  exercise,  they  provoke  a  required 
degree  of  mental  enthusiasm.  With  this  object  the  aborigines 


THE    YEMASSEE.  .  297 

have  many  kinds  of  dances,  and  others  of  even  more  interesting 
character.  Among  many  of  the  tribes  these  exhibitions  are  lite 
rally  so  many  chronicles.  They  are  the  only  records,  left  by  tradi 
tion,  of  leading  events  iii  their  history  which  they  were  instituted 
to  commemorate.  An  epoch  in  the  national  progress — a  new  dis 
covery — a  new  achievement — was  frequently  distinguished  by  the 
invention  of  a  dance  or  game,  to  which  a  name  was  given  signi 
ficant  of  the  circumstance.  Thus,  any  successful  hunt,  out  of  their 
usual  routine,  was  embodied  in  a  series  of  evolutions  at  the  gather 
ing  for  a  feast,  exhibiting  frequently  in  sport,  what  had  really  taken 
place.  In  this  way,  handed  from  tribe  to  tribe,  and  from  genera 
tion  U  generation,  it  constituted  a  portion,  not  merely  of  the 
history  of  the  past,  but  of  the  education  of  the  future.  This  edu 
cation  fitted  them  alike  for  the  two  great  exercises  of  most  barba 
rians, — the  battle  and  the  chase.  The  weapons  of  the  former  were 
also  those  of  the  latter  pursuit,  and  the  joy  of  success  in  either 
object  was  expressed  in  the  same  manner.  The  dance  and  song 
formed  the  beginning,  as  they  certainly  made  the  conclusion  of  ali 
their  adventures ;  and  whether  in  defeat  or  victory,  there  was  no 
omission  of  the  practice.  Thus  we  have  the  song  of  war — of  scalp- 
taking — of  victory — of  death ;  not  to  speak  of  the  thousand  vari 
ous  forms  by  which  their  feelings  were  expressed  in  song,  in  the 
natural  progress  of  the  seasons.  These  songs,  in  most  cases,  called 
for  corresponding  dances;  and  the  Indian  warrior,  otherwise  seem 
ing  rather  a  machine  than  a  mortal,  adjusted,  on  an  inspiring 
occasion,  the  strains  of  the  prophet  and  the  poet,  to  the  wild  and 
various  action  of  the  Pythia.  The  elements  of  all  uncultivated 
people  are  the  same.  The  early  Greeks,  in  their  stern  endurance 
of  torment,  in  their  sports  and  exercises,  were  exceedingly  like  the 
North  American  savages.  The  Lacedaemonians  went  to  battle  with 
songs  and  dances ;  a  similar  practice  obtained  among  the  Jews ; 
and  one  particularly,  alike  of  the  Danes  and  Saxons,  was  to  usher 
in  the  combat  with  wild  and  discordant  anthems. 

The  survey  was  curious  to  Harrison,  but  it  was  also  terrible. 
Conscious  as  he  was,  not  merely  of  his  own,  but  of  the  danger  of 
the  colony,  he  could  not  help  feeling  the  strange  and  striking 
romance  of  his  >wn  situation  Bound  to  a  tree — helpless,  hope- 

13* 


298  THE    YEMASSEE. 

less — a  stranger,  a  prisoner,  and  destined  to  the  sacrifice — tb« 
thick  night  around  him — a  thousand  enemies,  dark,  dusky,  fierce 
savages,  half  intoxicated  with  that  wild  physical  action  which  has 
its  drunkenness,  not  less  than  wine.  Their  wild  distortions — their 
hell-kindled  eyes — their  barbarous  sports  and  weapons — the  sud 
den  and  demoniac  shrieks  from  the  women — the  occasional  burst 
of  song,  pledging  the  singer  to  the  most  diabolical  achievements, 
mingled  up  strangely  in  a  discord  which  had  its  propriety,  with 
the  clatter  of  the  drum,  and  the  long  melancholy  note  of  the  bugle. 
And  then,  that  high  tumulus — that  place  of  skulls — the  bleached 
bones  of  centuries  past  peering  through  its  sides,  and  speaking  for 
the  abundant  fulness  of  the  capacious  mansion-house  of  death 
within  !  The  awful  scene  of  torture,  and  the  subsequent  unscrupu 
lous  murder  of  the  heroic  Irishman — the  presence  of  the  gloomy 
prophet  in  attendance  upon  the  sacred  fire,  which  he  nursed  care 
fully  upon  the  mound — the  little  knot  of  chiefs,  consisting  of  Sanu- 
tee,  Ishiagaska,  and  others,  not  to  speak  of  the  Spanish  agent, 
Chorley — in  close  council  in  his  sight,  but  removed  from  hearing — 
these,  and  the  consciousness  of  his  own  situation,  while  they  brought 
to  the  heart  of  the  Cavalier  an  added  feeling  of  hopelessness,  could 
not  fail  to  awaken  in  his  mind  a  sentiment  of  wonder  and  admira 
tion,  the  immediate  result  of  his  excited  thoughts  and  fancy. 

But  the  dance  was  over  at  a  signal  from  the  prophet.  He  saw 
that  the  proper  feeling  of  excitation  had  been  attained.  The  demon 
was  aroused,  and,  once  aroused,  was  sleepless.  The  old  women 
waved  their  torches  and  rushed  headlong  through  the  woods — 
Bhouting  and  shrieking — while  the  warriors,  darting  about  with  the 
most  savage  yells,  struck  their  knives  and  hatchets  into  the  neigh 
bouring  trees,  giving  each  the  name  of  an  Englishman  whom  he 
knew,  and  howling  out  the  sanguinary  promise  of  the  scalp-song, 
at  every  stroke  inflicted  upon  the  unconscious  trunk. 

"  Sangarrah-me,  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee"  was  the  cry  of  each 
chief  to  his  particular  division ;  and  as  they  arranged  themselves 
under  their  several  commands,  Harrison  was  enabled  to  form  some 
idea  of  the  proposed  destination  of  each  party.  To  Ishiagaska  and 
Chorley,  he  saw  assigned  a  direction  which  he  readily  conjectured 
would  lead  them  to  the  Block  House,  and  tho  settlement  in  the 


THE    YEAfASSJSE.  299 

immediate  neighbourhood,  as  it  was  not  reasonable  to  suppose  thai 
the  latter  would  desire  any  duty  carrying  him  far  from  his  vessel. 
To  another  force  the  word  Coosaw  sufficiently  indicated  Beaufort 
as  the  point  destined  for  its  assault ;  and  thus,  party  after  party 
was  despatched  in  one  direction  or  another,  until  but  a  single  spot 
of  the  whole  colony  remained  unthreatened  with  an  assailant, — and 
that  was  Charleston.  The  reservation  was  sufficiently  accounted 
for,  as  Sanutee,  and  the  largest  division  of  the  Yemassee  forces, 
remained  unappropriated.  The  old  chief  had  reserved  this,  the 
most  dangerous  and  important  part  of  the  adventure,  to  himself. 

A  shrill  cry — an  unusual  sound — broke  upon  the  silence,  and 
the  crowd  was  gone  in  that  instant ; — all  the  warriors,  with  Sanu 
tee  at  their  head.  The  copse  concealed  them  from  the  sight  of 
Harrison,  who,  in  another  moment,  found  himself  more  closely 
grappled  than  before.  A  couple  of  tomahawks  waved  before  hi? 
eyes  in  the  glare  of  the  torches  borne  in  the  hands  of  the  warriors 
who  secured  him.  No  resistance  could  have  availed  him,  and, 
cursing  his  ill  fortune,  and  suffering  the  most  excruciating  of  mental 
griefs  as  he  thought  of  the  progress  of  the  fate  which  threatened 
his  people,  he  made  a  merit  of  necessity,  and  offering  ne  obstacle 
to  the  will  of  his  captors,  he  was  carried  to  Pocota-ligo — bound 
with  thongs  and  destined  for  the  sacrifice  which  was  to  follow  hard 
upon  their  triumph.  Such  was  the  will  of  the  prophet  of  Man- 
neyto,  and  ignorance  does  not  often  question  the  decrees  of  super 
stition. 

Borne  along  with  the  crowd,  Harrison  entered  Pocota-ligo  under 
a  motley  guard  and  guidance.  He  had  been  intrusted  to  the  care 
of  a  few  superannuated  old  warriors,  who  were  deemed  sufficient  for 
the  service  of  keeping  him  a  prisoner ;  but  they  were  numerously 
attended.  The  mob  of  the  Yemassees — for  they  had  their  mobs' 
as  well  as  the  more  civilized — consisted  of  both  sexes ;  and  when 
we  reflect  upon  the  usual  estimation  placed  upon  women  by  all 
barbarous  people,  we  shall  not  be  surprised  to  know  that,  on  the 
present  occasion,  the  sex  were  by  far  the  most  noisy  if  not  the 
most  numerous.  Their  cries — savage  and  sometimes  indecent 
gestures — their  occasional  brutality,  and  the  freedom  and  frequency 
with  which  they  inflicted  blows  upon  the  captive  as  he  approached 


800  THE    YEMASSEE. 

them  on  his  way  to  prison,  showed  them  to  have  reached  a  con 
dition,  in  which  they  possessed  all  the  passions  of  the  one  sex, 
without  the  possession  of  their  powers ; — to  have  lost  the  gentle 
nature  of  the  woman  without  acquiring  the  magnanimity  of  the 

Xman,  which  is  the  result  of  his  consciousness  of  strength.  We 
must  add,  however,  in  justice  to  the  sex,  that  the  most  active  par 
ticipants  in  the  torture  of  the  captives  of  the  red-men  are  mostly 
old  women  and  boys.  The  young  girls  rarely  show  themselves 
active  in  such  employments.  On  the  present  occasion,  these  old 
hags,  bearing  torches  which  they  waved  wildly  in  air  as  they 
ran,  hurried  along  by  the  side  of  Harrison,  urging  him  on  with 
smart  blows,  which  were  painful  and  annoying,  rather  than  dan 
gerous.  Some  of  them  sang  for  him  in  their  own  language,  songs 
sometimes  of  taunt,  but  frequently  of  downright  blackguardism. 
And  here  we  may  remark,  that  it  is  rather  too  much  the  habit  to 
speak  of  the  Indians,  at  home  and  in  their  native  character,  as 
sternly  and  indifferently  cold — people  after  the  fashion  of  the  elder 
Cato,  who  used  to  say  that  he  never  suffered  his  wife  to  embrace 
him,  except  when  it  thundered — adding,  by  way  of  jest,  that  he 
was  therefore  never  happy  except  when  Jupiter  was  pleased  to 

p  thunder.  We  should  be  careful  not  to  speak  of  them  as  we  casually 
see  them, — when,  conscious  of  our  superiority,  and  unfamiliar  with 
our  language,  they  are  necessarily  taciturn ;  as  it  is  the  pride  of 
an  Indian  to  hide  his  deficiencies.  With  a  proper  policy,  which 
might  greatly  benefit  upon  circulation,  he  conceals  his  ignorance 
in  silence.  In  his  own  habitation,  uninfluenced  by  drink  or  any 
form  of  degradation,  and  unrestrained  by  the  presence  of  superiors, 
he  is  sometimes  even  a  jester — delights  in  a  joke,  practical  or 
otherwise,  and  is  not  scrupulous  about  its  niceness  or  propriety.  In 
his  council  he  is  fond  of  speaking;  glories  in  long  talks;  and,  as 
he  grows  old,  if  you  incline  a  willing  ear,  even  becomes  garrulous. 
Of  course,  all  these  habits  are  restrained  by  circumstances.  He 
does  not  chatter  when  he  fights  or  hunts,  and  when  he  goes  to 
make  a  treaty,  and  never  presumes  to  say  more  than  he  has  been 
taught  by  his  people.  • 

The  customary  habit  of  the  Yemassees  was  not  departed  from 
on  the  present  occasion.     The  mob  had  nothing  of  forbearance 


THE    YEMASSEE.  80J 

towards  the  prisoner,  and  they  showed  lut  little  taciturnity. 
Hootings  and  bowlings — shriekings  and  shoutings — confused  cries 
— yells  of  laughter — hisses  of  scorn — here  and  there  a  fragment  of 
song,  either  of  battle  or  ridicule,  gathering,  as  it  were,  by  a 
common  instinct,  into  a  chorus  of  fifty  voices — most  effectually 
banished  silence  from  her  usual  night  dominion  in  the  sacred  town 
of  Pocota-ligo.  In  every  dwelling — for  the  hour  was  not  yet  late 
—the  torch  blazed  brightly — the  entrances  were  thronged  with 
their  inmates,  and  not  a  tree  but  gave  shelter  to  its  own  peculiar 
assemblage.  Curiosity  to  behold  a  prisoner,  destined  by  the 
unquestionable  will  of  the  prophet  to  the  great  sacrifice  which 
should  giye  gratitude  to  the  Maimeyto  for  the  victory  which  such 
a  pledge  was  most  confidently  anticipated  to  secure, — led  them 
forward  in  droves  ;  so  that,  when  Harrison  arrived  in  the  centre  ol 
the  town,  the  path  became  almost  entirely  obstructed  by  the  dense 
and  still  gathering  masses  pressing  upon  them.  The  way,  indeed, 
would  have  been  completely  impassable  but  for  the  hurrying 
torches  carried  forward  by  the  attending  women;  who,  waving 
them  about  recklessly  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  distributed  the 
melted  gum  in  every  direction,  and  effectually  compelled  the  more 
obtrusive  to  recede  into  less  dangerous  places. 

Thus  marshalled,  his  guards  bore  the  captive  onward  to  the 
safe-keeping  of  a  sort  of  block-house — a  cell  of  logs,  some  twelve 
feet  square,  rather  more  compactly  built  than  was  the  wont  of 
Indian  dwellings  usually,  and  without  any  aperture  save  the  single 
one  at  which  he  was  forced  to  enter.  Not  over  secure,  however, 
as  a  prison,  it  was  yet  made  to  answer  the  purpose,  and  what  it 
lacked  in  strength  and  security  was,  perhaps,  more  than  supplied 
in  the  presence  of  the  guard  put  upon  it.  Thrusting  their  prisoner, 
through  the  narrow  entrance,  into  a  damp  apartment,  the  earthen 
floor  of  which  was  strewn  with  pine  trash,  they  secured  the  door 
with  thongs  on  the  outside,  and  with  the  patience  of  old  warriors, 
they  threw  themselves  directly  before  it.  Seldom  making  captives, 
unless  as  slaves,  and  the  punishments  of  their  own  people  being 
usually  of  a  summary  character,  will  account  for  the  want  of  skill 
among  the  Yemassees  in  the  construe  tion  of  their  dungeon.  Th* 


802  THE   YEMASSEE. 

present  answered  all  their  purposes,  simply,  perhaps,  because  it 
had  answered  the  purposes  of  their  fathers.  This  is  reason  enough, 
in  a  thousand  respects,  with  the  more  civilized.  The  prison-house 
to  which  Harrison  was  borne,  had  been  in  existence  a  century. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

*  Why,  thi«  it  magic,  and  it  breaks  hi*  bond*, 
It  giret  him  freedom." 

HARRISON  was  one  of  those  true  philosophers  who  know  alwayi 
Low  to  keep  themselves  for  better  times.  As  he  felt  that  resistance, 
at  that  moment,  must  certainly  be  without  any  good  result,  he 
quietly  enough  suffered  himself  to  be  borne  to  prison.  He  neither 
halted  nor  hesitated,  nor  pleaded,  nor  opposed,  but  went  forward, 
offering  no  obstacle,  with  as  much  wholesome  good-will  and  com 
pliance  as  if  the  proceeding  were  perfectly  agreeable  to  him.  He 
endured,  with  no  little  show  of  patience,  all  the  blows  and  buffet- 
:ngs  so  freely  bestowed  upon  him  by  his  feminine  enemies ;  and 
\f  he  did  not  altogether  smile  under  the  infliction,  he  at  least  took 
good  care  to  avoid  any  ebullition  of  anger,  which  as  it  was  there 
impotent,  must  necessarily  have  been  a  weakness,  and  would  most 
certainly  have  been  entirely  thrown  away.  Among  the  Indians, 
this  was  by  far  the  better  policy.  They  can  admire  the  courage, 
though  they  hate  the  possessor.  Looking  round  amid  the  crowd, 
Harrison  thought  he  could  perceive  many  evidences  of  this  senti 
ment.  Sympathy  and  pity  he  also  made  out,  in  the  looks  of  a  few 
One  thing  he  did  certainly  observe — -a  generous  degree  of  forbear 
ance,  as  well  of  taunt  as  of  buffet,  on  the  part  of  all  the  better-look 
ing  among  the  spectators.  Nor  did  he  deceive  himself.  The  in 
solent  portion  of  the  rabble  formed  a  class  especially  for  such  pur 
poses  as  the  present ;  and  to  them,  its  duties  were  left  exclusively, 
The  forbearance  of  the  residue  looked  to  him  like  kindness,  and 
with  the  elasticity  of  his  nature,  hope  came  with  the  idea. 

Nor  was  he  mistaken.  Many  eyes  in  that  assembly  looked  upon 
him  with  regard  and  commiseration.  The  firm  but  light  tread  of 
his  step — the  upraised,  unabashed,  the  almost  laughing  eye — the 
free  play  into  liveliness  of  tho  muscles  of  his  mouth — sometime* 


804:  THE    YEMASSEE. 

curled  into  contempt,  and  again,  closely  compressed,  as  in  defiance 
-together  with  his  fine,  manly  form,  and  even  carriage — were  all 
calculated  to  call  for  the  respect,  if  for  no  warmer  feeling  of  the 
spectators.  They  all  knew  the  bravery  of  the  Coo$ah-moray-ie,  or 
the  Coosaw-killer — many  of  them  had  felt  his  kindness  and  liberal 
ity,  and,  but  for  the  passionate  nationality  of  the  Indian  character 
the  sympathy  of  a  few  might  at  that  moment  have  worked  actively 
in  his  favour,  and  with  the  view  to  his  release. 

There  was  one  in  particular,  among  the  crowd,  who  regarded 
him  with  a  melancholy  satisfaction.  It  was  Matiwan,  the  wife  of 
Sanutee.  As  the  wliole  nation  had  gathered  to  the  sacred  town, 
in  which,  during  the  absence  of  the  warriors,  they  found  shelter, 
she  was  now  a  resident  of  Pocota-ligo.  One  among,  but  not  of  the 
rabble,  she  surveyed  the  prisoner  with  an  emotion  which  only  the 
heart  of  the  bereaved  mother  may  define.  "  Ah  !  "  she  muttered 
to  herself,  in  her  own  language, — "  ah  !  even  thus  lofty,  and  hand 
some,  and  brave — thus  with  a  big  heart,  and  ;i  bright  eye, — walked 
and  looked  the  son  of  Matiwan  and  the  great  chief,  Sarmtee, 
when  the  young  chief  was  the  beloved  brave  of  the  Yemassee.  Is 
there  a  living  mother  of  the  Coosah-mor&y-te,  beyond  the  great 
waters,  who  loves  her  son,  as  the  poor  Matiwan  loved  the  boy 
Occonestoga  ?"  The  strange  enquiry  filled  the  thoughts  of  the 
woman.  Sympathy  has  wings  as  well  as  tears,  and  her  eyes  took 
a  long  journey  in  imagination  to  that  foreign  land.  She  saw  the 
mother  of  the  captive  with  a  grief  at  heart  like  her  own  ;  and  her 
own  sorrows  grew  deeper  at  the  survey.  Then  came  a  strange 
wish  to  serve  that  pale  mother — to  save  her  from  an  anguish  such 
as  hers  :  then  she  looked  upon  the  captive,  and  her  memory  grew 
active  ;  she  knew  him — she  had  seen  him  before  in  the  great  town 
of  the  pale-faces — he  appeared  a  chief  among  them,  and  so  had 
been  called  by  her  father,  the  old  Warrior  Etiwee,  who,  always  an 
excellent  friend  to  the  English,  had  taken  her,  with  the  boy  Occo 
nestoga — on  a  visit  to  Charleston.  She  had  there  seen  Harri 
son,  but  under  another  name.  He  had  been  kind  to  her  father — 
had  made  him  many  presents,  and  the  beautiful  little  cross  of  red 
coral,  which,  without  knowing  anything  of  its  symbolical  associa 
tions,  she  had  continued  to  wear  in  her  bosom,  had  been  the  gift 


THE  YEMASSEE  305 

of  him  who  was  now  the  prisoner  to  her  people.  She  knew  h'im 
through  his  disguise — her  father  would  have  known — would  have 
saved  him,  had  he  been  living.  She  had  heard  his  doom  de 
nounced  to  take  place  on  the  return  of  the  war-party ;  she  gazed 
upon  the  manly  form,  the  noble  features,  the  free,  fearless  carriage 
— she  thought  of  Occonestoga — of  the  pale  mother  of  the  English 
man — of  her  own  bereavement — and  of  a  thousand  other  things 
belonging  naturally  to  the  same  topics.  The  more  she  thought,  the 
more  her  heart  grew  softened  within  her — the  more  aroused  her 
brain — the  more  restless  and  unrestrainable  her  spirit. 

She  turned  away  from  the  crowd  as  the  prisoner  was  hurried 
into  the  dungeon.  She  turned  away  in  anguish  of  heart,  and  a 
strange  commotion  of  thought.  She  sought  the  shelter  of  the 
neighbouring  wood,  and  rambled  unconsciously,  as  it  were,  among 
the  old  forests.  But  she  had  no  peace — she  was  pursued  by  the 
thought  which  assailed  her  from  the  first.  The  /mage  of  Occones 
toga  haunted  her  footsteps,  and  she  turned  on'y  to  see  his  bloody 
form  and  gashed  head  for  ever  at  her  elbow  He  looked  appeal-1 
ingly  to  her, "and  she  then  thought  of  the  English  mother  over 
the  waters.  He  pointed  in  the  direction  oi  Pocota-ligo,  and  she 
then  saw  the  prisoner,  Harrison.  She  saw  him  in  tne  aungeun, 
she  saw  him  on  the  tumulus — the  flames  were  gathering  around 
him — a  hundred  torturing  arrows  were  stuck  in  his  person,  and 
she  beheld  the  descending  hatchet,  bringing  him  the  coup  de  grace. 
These -images  were  full  of  terror,  and  their  contemplation  still  more 
phrenzied  her  intellect.  She  grew  strong  and  fearless  with  the 
desperation  which  they  brought,  and  rushing  through  the  forest, 
she  once  more  made  her  way  into  the  heart  of  Pocota-ligo. 

The  scene  was  changed.  The  torches  were  either  burnt  out  or 
decaying,  and  scattered  over  the  ground.  The  noise  was  over— 
the  crowd  dispersed  and  gone.  Silence  and  sleep  had  resumed 
their  ancient  empire.  She  trod,  alone,  along  the  great  thorough 
fare  of  the  town.  A  single  dog  ran  at  her  heels,  baying  at  in 
tervals*,  but  him  she  hushed  with  a  word  of  unconscious  soothing, 
— ignorant  when  she  uttered  it.  There  were  burning  feelings  in 
her  bosom,  at  variance  with  reason — at  variance  with  the  limited 
duty  which  she  owed  to  society — at  variance  with  her  own  safetv 


306  THE    YEMASSEE. 

But  what  c(  'hese  ?  There  is  a  holy  instinct  that  helps  us,  some 
times,  in  'Jie  face  of  our  common  standards.  Humanity  is  earlier 
in  .ts  origin  and  holier  in  its  claims  than  society.  She  felt  the 
one,  did  forgot  to  obey  the  other. 

R)v,  went  forward,  and  the  prison-house  of  the  Englishman 
un^cr  the  shelter  of  a  venerable  oak — the  growth  of  several  silent 
centuries — rose  dimly  before  her.  Securely  fastened  with  stout 
thongs  on  the  outside,  the  door  was  still  farther  guarded  by  a 
couple  of  warriors  lying  upon  the  grass  before  it.  One  of  them 
seemed  to  sleep  soundly,  but  the  other  was  wakeful.  He  lay  at 
full  length,  however,  his  head  upraised,  and  resting  upon  one  of 
his  palms — his  elbow  lifting  it  from  the  ground.  The  other  hand 
grasped  the  h^tehet,  which  he  employed  occasionally  in  chopping 
the  earth  just  before  him.  He  was  musing  rather  than  meditative, 
and  the  action  of  his  hand  and  hatchet,  capricious  and  fitful,  indi 
cated  a  want  of  concentration  in  his  thought.  This  was  in  hei 
favour.  Still,  there  was  no  possibility  of  present  approach  unper- 
ceived ;  and  to  succeed  in  a  determination  only  half-formed  in  her 
bosom,  and,  in  fact,  undesigned  in  her  head,  the  gentle  but  fearless 
woman  had  recourse  to  some  of  those  highly  ingenious  arts,  so 
well  known  to  the  savage,  and  which  he  borrows  in  most  part  from 
the  nature  around  him.  Receding,  therefore,  to  a  little  distance, 
she  carefully  sheltered  herself  in  a  small  clustering  clump  of  bush 
and  brush,  at  a  convenient  distance  for  her  purpose,  and  proceeded 
more  definitely  to  the  adjustment  of  her  design. 

Meanwhile,  the  yet  wakeful  warrior  looked  round  upon  his  com 
rade,  who  lay  in  a  deep  slumber  between  himself  and  the  dungeon 
entrance.  Fatigue  and  previous  watchfulness  had  done  their  wo:k 
with  the  veteran.  The  watcher  himself  began  to  feel  these  in 
fluences  stealing  upon  him,  though  not  in  the  same  degree, 
perhaps,  and  with  less  rapidity.  But,  as  he  looked  around,  and 
witnessed  the  general  silence,  his  ear  detecting  with  difficulty  the 
drowsy  motion  of  the  zephyr  among  the  thick  branches  over 
head-— as  if  that  slept  also — his  own  drowsiness  crept  more  and 
more  upon  his  senses.  Nature  is  thronged  with  sympathies,  and 
the  undiseased  sense  finds  its  kindred  at  all  hours  and  in  every 
situation. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  307 

Suddenly,  as  he  mused,  a  faint  chirp,  that  of  a  single  cricket, 
swelled  upon  his  ear  from  the  neighbouring  grove.  He  answered 
it,  for  great  were  his  imitative  faculties.  He  answered  it,  and  from 
an  occasional  note,  it  broke  out  into  a  regular  succession  of  chirp 
ings,  sweetly  timed,  and  breaking  the  general  silence  of  the  night 
with  an  effect  utterly  indescribable,  excep*  to  watchers  blessed 
with  a  quick  imagination.  To  these,  still  musing  and  won  by  the 
interruption,  he  sent  back  a  similar  response ;  and  his  attention 
was  suspended,  as  if  for  some  return.  But  the  chirping  died  away 
in  a  click  scarcely  perceptible.  It  was  succeeded,  after  a  brief 
interval,  by  the  faint  note  of  a  mock-bird — a  sudden  note,  as  if 
the  minstrel,  starting  from  sleep,  had  sent  it  forth  unconsciously, 
or,  in  a  dream,  had  thus  given  utterance  to  some  sleepless  emotion. 
It  was  soft  and  gentle  as  the  breathings  of  a  flower.  Again  came 
the  chirping  of  the  cricket — a  broken  strain — capricious  in  time, 
And  now  seeming  near  at  hand,  now  remote  and  flying.  Then 
rose  the  whizzing  hum,  as  of  a  tribe  of  bees  suddenly  issuing 
from  the  hollow  of  some  neighbouring  tree ;  and  then,  the  clear, 
distinct  tap  of  the  woodpecker — once,  twice,  and  thrice.  Silence, 
then, — and  the  burden  of  the  cricket  was  resumed,  at  the  moment 
when  a  lazy  stir  of  the  breeze  in  the  branches  above  the  half- 
drowsy  warrior  seemed  to  solicit  the  torpor  from  which  it  occa 
sionally  started.  Gradually,  the  successive  sounds,  so  natural  to 
the  situation,  and  so  grateful  and  congenial  to  the  ear  of  the 
hunter,  hummed  his  senses  into  slumber.  For  a  moment,  his 
eyes  were  half  re-opened,  and  he  looked  round  vacantly  upon  the 
woods,  and  upon  the  dying  flame  of  the  scattered  torches,  and 
then  upon  his  fast-sleeping  comrade.  The  prospect  gave  additional 
stimulus  to  the  dreamy  nature  of  the  influences  growing  about 
and  gathering  upon  him.  Finally,  the  trees  danced  away  from 
before  his  vision — the  clouds  came  down  close  to  his  face ;  and, 
gently  accommodating  his  arm  to  the  support  of  his  dizzy  and 
sinking  head,  he  gradually  and  unconsciously  sank  beside  his 
companion,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  erjoyed  a  slumber  as  oblivioua 


CHAPTER  XXXVIL 

'"Tig  freedom  that  she  brings  him,  but  the  para 
I*  laaguered  he  must  'scape  through.     Foemen  watck, 
Ready  to  strike  the  hopeless  fugitive  " 

WITH  the  repose  to  slumber  of  the  warrior — the  cricket  and  the 
bee,  the  mock-bird  and  the  woodpecker,  all  at  once  grew  silent. 
A  few  moments  only  had  elapsed,  when,  cautious  in  approach, 
they  made  their  simultaneous  appearance  from  the  bush  in  the 
person  of  Matiwan.  It  was  her  skill  that  had  charmed  the  spirit 
of  the  watcher  into  sleep,  by  the  employment  of  associations  so 
admirably  adapted  to  the  spirit  of  the  scene.  With  that  ingenuity 
which  is  an  instinct  with  the  Indians,  she  had  imitated,  one  after 
another,  the  various  agents,  whose  notes,  duly  timed,  had  first 
won,  then  soothed,  and  then  relaxed  and  quieted  the  senses  of 
the  prison-keeper.  She  had  rightly  judged  in  the  employment  of 
her  several  arts.  The  gradual  beatitude  of  mind  and  lassitude  of 
body,  brought  about  with  inevitable  certainty,  when  once  we  have 
lulled  the  guardian  senses  of  the  animal,  must  always  precede 
their  complete  unconsciousness ;  and  the  art  of  the  Indian,  in  this 
way,  is  often  employed,  in  cases  of  mental  excitation  and  disease, 
with  a  like  object.  The  knowledge  of  the  power  of  soothing, 
sweet  sounds  over  the  wandering  mind,  possessed,  as  the  Hebrew 
«.  trongly  phrased  it,  of  devils,  was  not  confined  to  that  people,  nor 
o  the  melodious  ministerings  of  their  David.  The  Indian  claims 
or  it  a  still  greater  influence,  when,  with  a  single  note,  he  bids 
die  serpent  uncoil  from  his  purpose,  and  wind  unharmingly  away 
from  the  bosom  of  his  victim. 

She  emerged  from  her  place  of  concealment  with  a  caution 
which  marked  something  more  of  settled  purpose  than  she  had 
yet  exhibited.  She  approached  in  the  dim,  flickering  light,  cast 
from  the  decaying  torches  which  lay  scattered  without  order  alonjf 


THE    YEMASSEE.  309 

the  ground  A  few  paces  only  divided  her  from  the  watchers, 
and  she  continued  to  approach,  when  one  of  them  turned  with  a 
degree  of  restlessness  which  led  her  to  apprehend  that  he  haa 
awakened.  She  sank  back  like  a  shadow,  as  fleet  and  silently, 
once  more  into  the  cover  of  the  brush.  But  he  still  slept.  She 
again  approached — and  the  last  flare  of  the  torch  burning  most 
brightly  before,  quivered,  sent  up  a  little  gust  of  flame,  and  then 
went  out,  leaving  her  only  the  star  light  for  her  further  guidance. 
This  light  was  imperfect,  as  the  place  of  imprisonment  lay  under 
a  thickly  branching  tree,  and  her  progress  was  therefore  more 
difficult.  But,  with  added  difficulty,  to  the  strong  mood,  comes 
added  determination.  To  this  determination  the  mind  of  Matiwan 
brought  increased  caution;  and  treading  with  the  lightness  of 
some  melancholy  ghost,  groping  at  midnight  among  old  and 
deserted  chambers  of  the  heart,  the  Indian  woman  stepped  on 
ward  to  her  purpose,  over  a  spot  as  silent,  if  not  so  desolate. 
Carefully  placing  her  feet  so  as  to  avoid  the  limbs  of  the  sleeping 
guard — who  lay  side  by  side  and  directly  across  the  door- way — a 
design  only  executed  with  great  difficulty,  she  at  length  reached 
the  door ;  and  drawing  from  her  side  a  knife,  she  separated  the 
thick  thongs  of  skin  which  had  otherwise  well  secured  it.  In 
another  moment  she  was  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment  and  in 
the  presence  of  the  captive. 

He  lay  at  length,  though  not  asleep,  upon  the  damp  floor  of  the 
dungeon.  Full  of  melancholy  thought,  and  almost  prostrate  with 
despair,  his  mind  and  imagination  continued  to  depict  before  his 
eyes  the  thousand  forms  of  horror  to  which  savage  cruelty  was 
probably,  at  that  very  moment,  subjecting  the  form  most  dear  to 
his  affections,  and  the  people  at  large,  for  whose  lives  he  would 
freely  have  given  up  his  own.  He  saw  the  flames  of  their  desola 
tion — he  heard  the  cries  of  their  despair.  Their  blood  gushed 
along  before  his  eyes,  in  streams  that  spoke  to  him  appealingly,  at 
least  for  vengeance.  How  many  veins,  the  dearest  in  his  worship, 
had  been  drained  perchance  to  give  volume  to  their  currents.  The 
thought  was  horrible,  the  picture  too  trying  and  too  terrible  for 
the  contemplation  of  a  spirit,  which,  fearless  and  firm,  was  yet 
gentle  and  affectionate.  Ho  covered  his  eyes  with  his  extended 


310  THE     YEHASSEE. 

palms,  as  if  to  shut  from  his  physical  what  was  perceptible  only  to 
his  mental  vision. 

A  gust  aroused  him.  The  person  of  Matiwaii  was  before  him,  a 
dim  outline,  undistinguishable  in  feature  by  his  darkened  and 
disordered  sight.  Iler  voice,  like  a  murmuring  water  lapsing 
away  among  the  rushes,  fell  soothingly  upon  his  senses.  Herself 
half  dreaming — for  her  proceeding  had  been  a  matter  rather  of 
impulse  than  premeditation — the  single  word,  so  gently  yet  sc 
clearly  articulated,  with  which  she  broke  in  upon  the  melancholy 
musings  of  the  captive,  and  first  announced  her  presence,  proved 
sufficiently  the  characteristic  direction  of  her  own  maternal  spirit. 

"  Occonestoga  ?" 

"  Who  speaks  !"  was  the  reply  of  Harrison,  starting  to  his  feet, 
and  assuming  an  attitude  of  defiance  and  readiness,  not  less  than 
doubt ;  for  he  had  now  no  thought  but  that  of  fight,  in  connexion 
with  the  Yemassees.  "  Who  speaks  ?" 

"  Ah  !"  and  in  the  exclamation  we  see  the  restored  conscious 
ness  which  taught  her  that  not  Occonestoga,  but  the  son  of 
{mother  mother,  stood  before  her. 

"  Ah !  the  Coosah-moray-te  shall  go,"  she  said,  in  broken 
English. 

"  Who — what  is  this  ?"  responded  the  captive,  as  he  felt  rather 
than  understood  the  kindness  of  the  tones  that  met  his  ear ;  and 
he  now  more  closely  approached  the  speaker. 

"  Hush," — she  placed  her  hand  upon  his  wrist,  and  looked  to 
the  door  with  an  air  of  anxiety — then  whisperingly,  urged  him  to 
caution. 

"  Big  warriors — tomahawks — they  may  lie  in  the  grass  for  the 
English." 

"  And  who  art  thou — woman  ?  Is  it  freedom — life  ?  Cut  the 
cords,  quick,  quick — let  me  feel  my  liberty."  And  as  she  busied 
herself  in  cutting  the  sinews  that  tightly  secured  his  wrists,  he 
scarcely  forbore  his  show  of  impatience. 

"I  am  free — I  am  free.  I  thank  thee,  God— great,  good  fa 
ther,  this  is  tty  Providence!  I  thank — I  praise  thee  1  And 
thou — who  art  thou,  my  preserver — but  wherefore  ask  I  Th<w 
%rt— " 


THE    YEMASSEE.  311 

"It  is  Matiwan  !"  she  said  humbly. 

"The  wife  of  Sanutee — how  shall  I  thank — how  reward  thee, 
Matiwan  !" 

"  Matiwan  is  the  woman  of  the  great  chief,  Sanutee — she  makes 
free  the  English,  that  has  a  look  and  a  tongue  like  the  boy  Oc- 
conestoga." 

"  And  where  is  he,  Matiwan — where  is  the  young  warrior  ?  I 
came  to  see  after  him,  and  it  is  this  which  has  brought  me  into 
my  present  difficulty." 

"  Take  the  knife,  English — take  the  knife.  Look  !  the  blood  is 
on  the  hand  of  Matiwan.  It  is  the  blood  of  the  boy." 

"  Woman,  thou  hast  not  slain  him — thou  hast  not  slain  the  child 
of  thy  bosom  !" 

"  Matiwan  saved  the  boy,"  she  said  proudly. 

"  Then  he  lives." 

"  In  the  blessed  valley  with  the  Manneyto.  He  will  build  a 
great  lodge  for  Matiwan." 

"  Give  me  the  knife." 

He  took  it  hurriedly  from  her  grasp,  supposing  her  delirious, 
and  failing  utterly  to  comprehend  the  seeming  contradiction  in  her 
language.  She  handed  it  to  him  with  a  shiver  as  she  gave  it  up ; 
then,  telling-  him  to  follow,  and  at  the  same  time  pressing  her  hand 
upon  his  arm  by  way  of  caution,  she  led  the  way  to  the  entrance, 
which  she  had  carefully  closed  after  her  on  first  entering.  With 
as  much,  if  not  more  caution  than  before,  slowly  unclosing  it,  she 
showed  him,  in  the  dim  light  of  the  stars,  the  extended  forms  of 
the  two  keepers.  They  still  slept,  but  not  soundly ;  and  in  the 
momentary  glance  which  she  required  the  captive  to  take,  with 
all  Indian  deliberateness,  she  seemed  desirous  of  familiarizing  his 
glance  with  the  condition  of  the  scene,  and  with  all  those  difficul 
ties  in  the  aspect  of  surrounding  objects  with  which  he  was  pro 
bably  destined  to  contend.  With  the  strong  excitement  of  renewed 
hope,  coupled  with  his  consciousness  of  freedom,  Harrison  would 
have  leaped  forward  ;  but  she  restrained  him,  and  just  at  that  mo 
ment,  a  sudden,  restless  movement  of  one  of  the  sleepers  warned 
them  to  be  heedful.  Quick  as  thought,  in  that  motion,  Matiwan 
sank  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  dungeon,  closing  the  door  with 


812  THE    YEMASSEE. 

the  same  impulse.  Pausing,  for  a  few  moments,  until  lie  renewed 
and  deep  breathings  from  without  reassured  her,  she  then  again 
led  the  way ;  but,  as  she  half  opened  the  door,  turning  quietly, 
she  said  in  a  whisper  to  the  impatient  Harrison: 

"  The  chief  of  the  English — the  pale  mother  loves  him  over  the 
water  ?" 

"She  does,  Matiwan — she  loves  him  very  much." 

"And  the  chief — he  keeps  her  here — "  pointing  to  her  heart. 

"  Always — deeply.     I  love  her  too,  very  much,  my  mother  !" 

"  It  is  good.  The  chief  will  go  on  the  waters — he  will  go  to 
the  mother  that  loves  him.  She  will  sing  like  a  green  bird  for 
him,  when  the  young  corn  comes  out  of  the  ground.  So  Matiwan 
sings  for  Occonestoga.  Go,  English — but  look  ! — for  the  arrow 
of  the  Yemassee  runs  along  the  path." 

He  pressed  her  hand  warmly,  but  his  lips  refused  all  other  ac 
knowledgment.  A  deep  sigh  attested  her  own  share  of  feeling  in 
those  references  wlrch  she  had  made  to  the  son  in  connexion  with 
the  mother.  Then,  once  more  unclosing  the  entrance,  she  stepped 
fearlessly  and  successfully  over  the  two  sleeping  sentinels. 

He  followed  her,  but  with  less  good  fortune.  Whether  it  was 
that  he  saw  indistinctly  in  that  unaccustomed  light,  and  brushed 
one  of  the  men  with  his  foot,  or  whether  the  latter  had  been  rest 
less  before,  and  only  in  an  imperfect  slumber  just  then  broken, 
may  not  now  be  said ;  but  at  that  inauspicious  moment  he 
awakened.  With  waking  comes  instant  consciousness  to  the  In 
dian,  who  differs  in  this  particular  widely  from  the  negro.  lie 
knew  his  prisoner  at  a  glance,  and  grappled,  him,  as  he  lay,  by  the 
leg.  Harrison,  with  an  instinct  quite  as  ready,  dashed  his  unob 
structed  heel  into  the  face  of  the  warrior,  and  though  released, 
would  have  followed  up  his  blow  by  a  stroke  from  his  uplifted  and 
bared  knife  ;  but  his  arm  was  held  back  by  Matiwan  Her  instinct 
was  gentler  and  wiser.  In  broken  English,  she  bade  him  fly  for 
his  life.  His  own  sense  taught  him  in  an  instant  the  propriety  of 
this  course,  and  before  the  aroused  Indian  could  recover  from  the 
blow  of  his  heel,  and  while  he  strove  to  waken  his  comrade,  the 
Englishman  bounded  down,  with  a  desperate  speed,  along  the  great 
thoroughfare  leading  to  the  river.  The  warriors  were  soon  at  hii 


THE    YEMASSEE.  313 

heels,  but  the  generolis   mood  of  Matiwan  did  not  rest  with  what 

she  had  already  done.     She  threw  herself  in  their  way,  and  thus 

gained  him  some  little  additional  time.     But  they  soon  put  her 

side,  and  their  quick  tread  in  the  pathway  taken  by  the  fugitive 

irarned  him  to  the  exercise  of  all  his  efforts.     At  the  same  time  he 

Coolly  calculated  his  course  and  its  chances.     As  he  thought  thus 

«e  clutched  the  knife  given  him  by  Matiwan,  with  an  emotion  of 

confidence   which  the  warrior  must  always  feel,  having  his  limbs, 

and  grasping  a  weapon  with  which  his  hand  has  been  familiar. 

"  At  least,"  thought  he,  fiercely, — "  they  must  battle  for  the  life 
they  take.  They  gain  no  easy  prey." 

Thus  did  he  console  himself  in  his  flight  with  his  pursuers  hard 
behind  him.  In  his  confidence  he  gained  new  strength  ;  and  thus 
tlie  well-exercised  mind  gives  strength  to  the  body  which  it  informs. 
Harrison  was  swift  of  foot,  also, — few  of  the  whites  were  better 
practised  or  more  admirably  formed  for  the  events  and  necessities 
of  forest  life.  But  the  Indian  has  a  constant  exercise  which  makes 
liin  a  prodigy  in  the  use  of  his  legs.  In  a  journey  of  day  after 
lay,  he  can  easily  outwind  any  horse.  Harrison  knew  this, — but 
then  he  thought  of  his  knife.  They  gained  upon  him,  and,  as  he 
clutched  the  weapon  firmly  in  his  grasp,  his  teeth  grew  tightly  fixed, 
aid  he  began  to  feel  the  rapturous  delirium  which  makes  the  desire 
for  the  strife.  Still,  the  river  was  hot  far  off,  and  though  galled 
at  the  necessity  of  flight,  he  yet  felt  what  was  due  to  his  people, 
at  that  very  moment,  most  probably,  under  the  stroke  of  their 
s  ivage  butchery.  He  had  no  time  for  individual  conflict,  in  which 
nothing  mio-ht  be  done  for  them.  The  fresh  breeze  now  swelled 

o  O 

up  from  the  river,  and  re-encouraged  him. 

'•Could  I  gain  that,"  he  muttered  to  himself, — "could  I  gain 
'hat,  1  were  safe.  Of  God's  surety,  I  may." 

A  look  over  his  shoulder,  and  a  new  start.  They  were  behind 
him,  but  not  so  close  as  he  had  thought.  Coolly  enough  he 
bounded  on,  thinking  aloud  : — 

"  They  cannot  touch,  but  they  may  shoot.  Well — if  they  do, 
they  must  stop,  and  a  few  seconds  more  will  give  me  a  cover  in 
the  waters.  Let  them  shoot — let  them  shoot.  The  arrow  is  better 
than  the  stake."  Thus  mutterin  to  himself,  but  in  tones  almost 


314.  THE    FEMASSEE. 

audible  to  his  enemies,  he  kept  his  way  with'  a  heart  something 
lighter  from  his  momentary  effort  at  philosophy.  He  did  not  per 
ceive  that  his  pursuers  had  with  them  no  weapon  but  the  toma- 
nawk,  or  his  consolations  might  have  been  more  satisfactory. 

In  another  moment  he  was  upon  the  banks  of  the  river ;  and 
there,  propitiously  enough,  a  few  paces  from  the  shore,  lay  a  canoe 
tied  to  a  pole  that  stood  upright  in  the  stream.  He  blessed  his 
stars  as  he  beheld  it,  and  pausing  not  to  doubt  whether  a  paddle 
!ay  in  its  bottom  or  not,  he  plunged  incontinently  forward,  wading 
almost  to  his  middle  before  he  reached  it.  He  was  soon  snug 
enough  in  its  bottom,  and  had  succeeded  in  cutting  the  thong  with 
his  knife  when  the  Indians  appeared  upon  the  bank.  Dreading 
their  arrows,  for  the  broad  glare  of  the  now  rising  moon  gave 
them  sufficient  light  for  their  use  had  they  been  provided  with 
them,  he  stretched  himself  at  length  along  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
and  left  it  to  the  current,  which  set  strongly  downward.  But  a 
sudden  plunge  into  the  water  of  one  and  then  the  other  of  his  pur 
suers,  left  him  without  the  hope  of  getting  off  so  easily.  The 
danger  came  in  a  new  shape,  and  he  properly  rose  to  meet  it. 
Placing  himself  in  a  position  which  would  enable  him  to  turn 
readily  upon  any  point  which  they  might  assail,  he  prepared  for 
the  encounter.  One  of  the  warriors  was  close  upon  him — swim 
ming  lustily,  and  carrying  his  tomahawk  grasped  by  the  handle  in 
his  teeth.  The  other  came  at  a  little  distance,  and  promised  soon 
to  be  up  with  him.  The  first  pursuer  at  length  struck  the  canoe, 
raised  himself  sufficiently  on  the  water  for  that  purpose,  and  his 
left  hand  grasped  one  of  the  sides,  while  the  right  prepared  to  take 
the  hatchet  from  his  jaws.  But  with  the  seizure  of  the  boat  by 
his  foe  came  the  stroke  of  Harrison.  His  knife  drove  half  through 
the  hand  of  the  Indian,  who  released  his  grasp  with  a  howl  that 
made  his  companion  hesitate.  Just  at  that  instant  a  third  plunge 
into  the  water,  as  of  some  prodigious  body,  called  for  the  attention 
of  all  parties  anew.  The  pursuers  now  became  the  fugitives,  as 
their  quick  senses  perceived  a  new  and  dangerous  enemy  in  the 
black  mass  surging  towards  them,  with  a  power  and  rapidity  which 
taught  them  the  necessity  of  instant  flight,  and  with  no  half  effort. 
They  well  knew  the  fierce  nppctite  and  the  tremendous  jaws  of  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  815 


native  alligator^.the  American  crocodile, — one  of  the  -largest  of 
which  now  came  looming  towards  them.  Self-preservation  was 
the  word.  The  captive  was  forgotten  altogether  in  their  own  dai> 
ger  ;  and  swimming  with  all  their  strength,  and  with  all  their  skill, 
in  a  zigzag  manner,  so  as  to  compel  their  unwieldy  pursuer  to 
make  frequent  and  sudden  turns  in  the  chase,  occasionally  pausing 
to  splash  the  water  with  as  much  noise  as  possible — a  practice 
known  to  discourage  his  approach  when  not  over-hungry — they 
contrived  to  baffle  his  pursuit,  and  half  exhausted,  the  two  warriors 
reached  and  clambered  up  the  banks,  just  as  their  ferocious  pur 
suer,  close  upon  their  heels,  had  opened  his  tremendous  jaws,  with 
an  awful  compass,  ready  to  engulf  them.  They  were  safe  though 
actually  pursued  even  up  the  banks  by  the  voracious  and  possibly 
half-starved  monster.  Their  Jate  captive,  the  fugitive,  was  now 
safe  also.  Paddling  as  well  as  he  could  with  a  broken  rlap-oai 
lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  he  shaped  his  course  to  strike  at 
a  point  as  far  down  the  river  as  possible,  without  nearmg  the 
pirate  craft  of  Chorley.  In  an  hour,  which  seemed  to  him  an  age, 
he  reached  the  opposite  shore,  a  few  miles  from  the  Block  House, 
not  very  much  fatigued,  and  in  perfect  safety. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

'  'Tis  an  unruly  mood,  that  will  not  hear, 
In  reason's  spite,  the  honest  word  of  truth — 
Such  mood  will  have  its  punishment,  and  time 
Is  never  slow  tn  bring  it.     It  will  come  " 

LET  us  somewhat  retrace  our  steps,  and  go  back  to  the  time, 
when,  made  a  prisoner  in  the  camp  of  the  Yemassees,  Harrison 
was  borne  away  to  Pocota-ligo,  a  destined  victim  for  the  sacrifice 
to  their  god  of  victory.  Having  left  him,  as  they  thought,  secure, 
the  war-party,  consisting,  as  already  described,  of  detachments  from 
a  number  of  '.ndependent,  though  neighbouring  nations,  proceeded 
to  scatter  themselves  over  the  country.  In  .'•mall  bodies,  they  ran 
from  dwelling  to  dwelling  with  the  utmost  rapidity — in  this  mar- 
ner,  by  simultaneous  attacks,  everywhere  preventing  anything  like 
union  or  organization  among  the  borderers.  One  or  two  large) 
parties  were  designed  for  higher  enterprises,  and  without  permit 
ting  themselves  to  be  drawn  aside  to  these  smaller  matters,  pursued 
their  object  with  Indian  inflexibility.  These  had  for  their  object 
the  surprise  of  the  towns  and  villages;"  and  so  great  had  been 
their  preparations,  so  well  conducted  their  whole  plan  of  warfare, 
that  six  thousand  warriors  hau  oeen  thus  got  together,  and,  burn 
ing  and  slaying,  they  had  made  their  way,  in  the  progress  of  this 
insurrection,  to  the  very  gates  of  Charleston — the  chief,  indeed  the 
only  town,  of  any  size  or  strength,  in  the  colony.  But  this  belongs 
not  to  the  narrative  immediately  before  us. 

Two  parties  of  some  force  took  the  direction  given  to  our  story, 
and  making  their  way  along  the  river  Pocota-ligo,  diverging  for 
a  few  miles  on  the  English  side,  had,  in  this  manner,  assailed 
every  dwelling  and  settlement  in  their  way  to  the  Block  House. 
One  of  these  parties  was  commanded  by  Chorley,  who,  in  addition 
to  his  seamen,  was  intrusted  with  the  charge  of  twenty  Indians. 
Equally  savage  with  the  party  which  he  commanded,  the  path  of  this 


THE    YEMASSEE.  817 

ruffian  was  traced  in  blood.  He  offered  no  obstacle  to  the  san 
quinary  indulgence,  on  the  part  of  the  Red  men,  of  their  habitual 
rury  in  war;  but  rather  stimulated  their  ferocity  by  the  indulgence 
of  his  own.  Unaccustomed,  however,  to  a  march  through  the 
rbrests,  the  progress  of  the  seamen  was  not  so  rapid  as  that  of  the 
other  party  despatched  on  the  same  route ;  and  many  of  the 
dwellings,  therefore,  had  been  surprised  and  sacked  some  time 
before  the  sailor  commander  could  make  his  appearance.  The 
Indian  leader  who  went  before  him  was  Ishiagaska,  one  of  the 
most  renowned  warriors  of  the  nation.  He,  indeed,  was  one  of 
those  who,  making  a  journey  to  St.  Augustine,  had  first  been 
seduced  by  the  persuasions  of  the  Spanish  governor  of  that  station 
— a  station  denounced  by  the  early  Carolinians,  from  the  perpetual 
forays  upon  their  borders,  by  land  and  sea,  issuing  from  that 
quarter — as  another  Sallee.  He  had  sworn  fidelity  to  the  King 
of  Spain  while  there,  and  from  that  point  had  been  persuaded  to 
visit  the  neighbouring  tribes  of  the  Creek,  Apalachiaii,  Euchee, 
and  Cherokee  Indians,  with  the  war-belt,  and  a  proposition  of  a 
common  league  against  the  English  settlements — a  proposition 
greedily  accepted,  when  coming  with  innumerable  presents  of 
hatchets,  knives,  nails,  and  gaudy  dresses,  furnished  by  the 
Spaniards,  who  well  knew  how  to  tempt  and  work  upon  the  appe 
tites  and  imagination  of  the  savages.  Laden  with  similar  presents, 
the  chief  had  returned  home,  and  with  successful  industry  had 
succeeded,  as  we  have  seen,  aided  by  Sanutee,  in  bringing  many 
of  his  people  to  a  similar  way  tf  thinking  with  himself.  The 
frequent  aggressions  of  the  whites,  the  cheats  practised  by  some 
of  their  traders,  and  othei  circumstances,  had  strongly  co-operated 
to  the  desired  end ;  and  with  his  desire  satisfied,  Ishiagaska  now 
headed  one  of  the  parties  destined  to  carry  the  war  to  Port  Royal 
Island,  sweeping  the  track  of  the  Pocota-ligo  settlements  in  his 
progress,  and  at  length  uniting  with  the  main  party  of  Sanutee 
before  Charleston. 

He  was  not  slow  in  the  performance  of  his  mission ;  but  for 
tunately  for  the  English,  warned  by  the  counsels  of  Harrison,  the 
greater  number  in  this  precinct  had  taken  timely  shelter  in  the 
31ock  House,  and  'eft  but  their  empty  dwellings  to  the  fury  of 


318  THE    YEMASSEE. 

their  invaders.  Still,  there  were  many  not  so  fortunate  ;  and, 
plying  their  way  from  house  to  house  in  their  progress,  with  all 
the  stealthy  silence  of  the  cat,  the  Indians  drove  their  tomahawks 
into  many  of  the  defenceless  cotters  who  came  imprudently  to  the 
door  in  recognition  of  the  conciliatory  demand  which  they  made 
for  admission.  Once  in  possession,  their  aim  was'indiscriminate 
slaughter,  and  one  bed  of  death  not  unfrequently  comprised  the 
forms  of  an  entire  family — husband,  wife,  and  children.  Sometimes 
they  fired  the  dwelling  into  which  caution  denied  them  entrance, 
and  as  the  inmates  fled  from  the  flames,  stood  in  watch  and  shot 
them  down  with  their  arrows.  In  this  way,  sparing  none,  whether 
young  or  old,  male  or  female,  the  band  led  on  by  Ishiagaska  ap 
peared  at  length  before  the  dwelling  of  the  pastor,  Matthews.  Rely 
ing  upon  his  reputation  with  the  Indians,  and  indeed  unapprehen 
sive  of  any  commotion,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  their  arts  of 
deception,  we  have  seen  him  steadily  sceptical,  and  almost  rudely 
indifferent  to  the  advice  of  Harrison.  Regarding  the  cavalier  in 
a  light  somewhat  equivocal,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  the 
source  of  the  counsel  was  indeed  the  chief  obstacle  with  him  in 
the  way  of  its  adoption.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  stubbornly  held  out 
in  his  determination  to  abide  where  he  was,  though  somewhat  stag 
gered  in  his  confidence,  when  in  their  flight  from  their  own  more 
exposed  situation  to  the  shelter  of  the  Block  House,  under  Har 
rison's  counsel,  the  old  dame  Grayson,  with  her  elder  son,  stopped 
at  his  dwelling.  He  assisted  the  ancient  lady  to  alight  from  her 
horse,  and  helped  her  into  the  house  for  refreshments,  while  her 
son  busied  himself  with  the  animal. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  dame  ?  What  brings  you  forth  at 
this  late  season  ?  To  my  mind,  at  your  time  of  life,  the  bed  would 
be  the  best  place,  certainly,"  was  the  address  of  the  pastor  as  he 
handed  her  some  refreshment. 

"Oh,  sure,  parson,  and  it's  a  hard  thing  for  such  as  me  to  be 
riding  about  the  country  on  horseback  at  any  time,  much  less  at 
night— though  to  be  sure  Watty  kept  close  to  the  bridle  of  the 
Creature,  which  you  see  is  a  fine  one,  and  goes  like  a  cradle." 

"  Well,  but  what  brings  you  out  ? — you  have  not  told  rne  that, 
yet.  Something  of  great  moment,  doubtless.'' 


THE    YEMASSEE.  319 

"  Wnat,  you  haven't  heard  ?  Hasn't  the  captain  told  you  ? 
Well,  that's  strange  !  I  thought  you'd  be  one  of  the  first  to  hear 
it  ali} — seeing  that  all  say  he  thinks  of  nobody  half  so  much  as  of 
your  young  lady  there.  Ah  !  my  dear — well,  you  needn't  blush 
now,  nor  look  down,  for  he's  a  main  fine  gentleman,  and  you 
couldn't  find  a  better  in  a  long  day's  journey." 

The  pastor  looked  grave,  while  the  old  dame,  whose  tongue 
always  received  a  new  impulse  when  she  met  her  neighbours,  ran 
on  in  the  most  annoying  manner.  She  stopped  at  last,  and  though 
very  readily  conjecturing  now  the  occasion  of  her  flight,  the  pastor 
did  not  conceive  it  improper  to  renew  his  question. 

"  Well,  as  I  said,  it's  all  owing  to  the  captain's  advice — Captain 
Harrison,  you  know — a  sweet  gentleman  that,  as  ever  lived.  He 
it  was — he  came  to  me  this  morning,  and  he  went  to  all  the  neigh 
bours,  and  looked  so  serious — you  know  he  don't  often  look  serious — 
but  he  looked  so  serious  as  he  told  us  all  about  the  savages — the 
Yemassees,  and  the  Coosaws — how  they  were  thinking  to  rise  and 
tomahawk  us  all  in  our  beds  ;  and  then  he  offered  to  lend  me  his 
horse,  seeing  I  had  no  creature,  and  it  was  so  good  of  him — for 
he  knew  how  feeble  I  was,  and  his  animal  is  so  gentle  and  easy." 

u  And  so,  with  this  wild  story,  he  has  made  you  travel  over  the 
country  by  night,  when  you  should  be  in  your  bed.  It  is  too  bad 
— this  young  man  takes  quite  too  many  liberties." 

"  Why,  how  now,  parson — what's  to  do  betwixt  you  and  the 
captain  ?"  asked  the  old  lady  in  astonishment. 

"  Well — nothing  of  any  moment,"  was  the  grave  reply.  "  I  only 
think  that  he  is  amusing  himself  at  our  expense,  with  a  levity  most 
improper,  by  alarming  the  country." 

"  My  ! — and  you  think  the  Indians  don't  mean  to  attack  and 
tomahawk  us  in  our  beds  f" 

"  That  is  my  opinion,  dame — I  see  no  reason  why  they  should. 
It  is  true,  they  have  had  some  difficulties  with  the  traders  of  late,  but 
they  have  been  civil  to  us.  One  or  more  have  been  here  every  day 
during  the  last  week,  and  they  seemed  then  as  peaceably  disposed 
as  ever.  They  have  listened  with  much  patience  to  my  poor  ex 
hortations,  and,  I  natter  myself,  with  profit  to  their  souls  and  under 
standings.  I  have  no  apprehension  myself;  though,  had  it  been 


320  THE   YEMASSE3. 

left  to  lk;ss  and  her  mother,  like  you,  we  should  have  been  ail 
riding  through  the  woods  to  the  Block  House,  with  the  pleasure 
of  riding  back  in  the  morning." 

"  Bless  me !  how  you  talk — well,  I  never  thought  to  hear  so 
badly  of  the  captain,  lie  did  seem  so  good  a  gentleman,  and  was 
BO  sweetly  spoken." 

"  Don't  mistake  ine,  dame, — I  have  said  nothing  unfavourable 
to  the  character  of  the  gentleman — nothing  bad  of  him.  I  know 
little  about  him,  and  this  is  one  chief  objection  which  I  entertain 
to  a  greater  intimacy.  Another  objection  is  that  wild  and  indeco 
rous  levity,  of  which  he  never  seems  to  divest  himself,  and  which 
I  think  has  given  you  to-night  a  fatiguing  and  unnecessary 
ramble." 

"  Well,  if  you  think  so,  1  don't  care  to  go  farther,  for  I  don't 
expect  to  be  at  all  comfortable  in  the  Block  House.  So,  if  you  can 
make  me  up  a  truck,  here — " 

"  Surely,  dame, — Bess,  my  dear " 

But  the  proposed  arrangement  was  interrupted  by  Walter  Gray- 
son,  who  just  then  appeared,  and  who  stoutly  protested  against 
his  mother's  stopping  short  of  the  original  place  of  destination. 
The  elder  Grayson  was  a  great  advocate  for  Captain  Harrison,  who 
embodied  all  his  ideal  of  what  was  worthy  and  magnificent,  and  in 
whom  his  faith  was  implicit — and  he  did  not  scruple  to  dilate  with 
praiseworthy  eloquence  upon  the  scandal  of  such  a  proceeding  as 
that  proposed. 

"  You  must  not  think  of  it,  mother.  How  will  it  look  ?  Be 
sides,  I'm  sure  the  captain  knows  what's  right,  and  wouldn't  say 
what  was  riot  certain.  It's  only  a  mile  and  a  bit — and  when  vou 
can  make  sure,  you  must  not  stop  short." 

"  But,  Watty,  boy — the  parson  says  it's  only  the  captain's  fun, 
and  we'll  only  have  to  take  a  longer  ride  in  the  morning  if  we  go 
on  further  to-night." 

The  son  looked  scowlingly  upon  the  pastor,  as  he  responded:  — 

"  Well,  perhaps  the  parson  knows  better  than  any  body  else  ; 
but  give  me  the  opinion  of  those  whose  business  it  is  to  know. 
Now,  I  believe  in  the  captain  whenever  fighting's  going  on,  and  1 
believe  in  the  parson  whenever  preaching's  going  on  —so,  as  it's 


THE    YEMASSEE.  321 

fighting  and  not  preaching  now,  I  don't  care  who  knows  it,  but  I 
believe  in  the  captain,  and  I  won't  believe  in  the  parson.  If  it  was 
preaching  and  not  fighting,  the  parson  should  be  my  man." 

"  Now,  Watty,  don't  be  disrespectful.  I'm  sure  the  parson  must 
be  right,  and  so  I  think  we  had  all  better  stay  here  when  there's  no 
use  in  going." 

"  Well  now,  mother,  I'm  sure  the  parson's  wrong,  and  if  you 
stay,  it  will  only  be  to  be  tomahawked  and  scalped." 

"  Why  alarm  your  mother  with  such  language,  young  man  ? 
You  are  deceived — the  Yemassees  were  never  more  peaceable  than 
they  are  at  present."  Matthews  thus  broke  in,  but  commanded 
little  consideration  from  the  son,  and  almost  provoked  a  harsh 
retort : — 

"I  say,  Parson  Matthews — one  man  knows  one  thing,  and 
.another  man  another — but,  curse  me,  if  I  believe  in  the  man  that 
pretends  to  know  everything.  Now  fighting's  •  the  business,  the 
very  trade  as  I  may  say  of  Captain  Harrison,  of  the  Foresters,  and 
I  can  tell  you,  if  it  will  do  you  any  good  to  hear,  that  he  knows  bet 
ter  how  to  handle  these  red-skins  than  any  man  in  Granville  county, 
let  the  other  man  come  from  whatever  quarter  he  may.  Now, 
preaching's  your  trade,  though  you  can't  do  much  at  it,  I  think  ; 
yet,  as  it  is  your  trade,  nobody  has  a  right  to  meddle — it's  your 
business,  not  mine.  But,  I  say,  parson — I  don't  think  it  looks  alto 
gether  respectful  to  try  and  undo,  behind  his  back,  the  trade  of 
another ;  and  I  think  it  little  better  than  backbiting  for  any  one 
to  speak  disreputably  of  the  captain,  just  when  he's  gone  into  the 
very  heart  of  the  nation,  to  see  what  we  are  to  expect,  and  all  for 
our  benefit." 

Grayson  was  mightily  indignant,  and  spoke  his  mind  freelv. 
The  parson  frowned  and  winced  at  the  rather  novel  and  nowise 
sparing  commentary,  but  could  say  nothing  precisely  to  the  p^int 
beyond  what  he  had  said  already.  Preaching,  and  not  fighting, 
was  certainly  his  profession  ;  and,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  the  previ 
ous  labours  of  Harrison  among  the  Indians,  his  success,  and  know 
ledge  of  their  habits  and  character,  justified  the  degree  of  con 
fidence  in  his  judgment,  upon  which  Gravson  so  loudly  insisted, 
and  which  old  Matthews  so  sturdily  withheld  A  »ew  speaker 

U* 


322  THE   YEMASSEE. 

now  came  forward,  however,  in  the  person  of  Bess  Matthews,  who, 
without  the  slightest  shrii  king,  advancing  from  the  side  of  her 
mother,  thus  addressed  the  last  speaker  : — 

"  Where,  Master  Grayson,  did  you  say  Captain  Harrison  had 
gone  ?" 

"  Ah,  Miss  Bessy,  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  But  you  may  well  ask, 
for  it's  wonderful  to  me  how  anybody  can  undervalue  a  noble  gen 
tleman  just  at  the  very  time  he's  doing  the  best,  and  risking  his 
own  life  for  us  all.  Who  knows  but  just  at  this  moment  the  Ye- 
massees  are  scalping  him  in  Pocota-ligo,  for  it's  there  he  is  gone  tc 
see  what  we  may  expect." 

"  You  do  not  speak  certainly,  Master  Grayson — it  is  only  your 
conjecture  ?"  was  her  inquiry,  while  the  lip  of  the  maiden  trem 
bled,  and  the  colour  fled  hurriedly  from  her  cheek. 

"  Ay,  but  I  do,  Miss  Bessy,  for  I  put  him  across  the  river  my 
self,  and  it  was  then  he  lent  me  the  horse  for  mother.  Yes,  there 
he  is,  and  nobody  knows  in  what  difficulty — for  my  part,  I'm 
vexed  to  the  soul  to  hear  people  running  down  the  man  that's  doing 
for  them  what  they  can't  do  for  themselves,  and  all  only  for.  the 
good-will  of  the  thing,  and  not  for  any  pay." 

"  Nobody  runs  down  your  friend,  Mr.  Graysou." 

"Just  the  same  thing — but  you  may  talk  as  you  think  proper; 
and  if  you  don't  choose  to  go,  you  may  stay.  I  don't  want  to 
have  any  of  mine  scalped,  and  so,  mother,  let  us  be  off." 

The  old  woman  half  hesitated,  and  seemed  rather  inclined  once 
more  to  change  her  decision  and  go  with  her  son,  but  happening 
to  detect  a  smile  upon  the  lips  of  the  pastor,  she  grew  more  obsti 
nate  than  ever,  and  peremptorily  declared  her  determination  to  stay 
where  she  was.  Grayson  seemed  perfectly  bewildered,  and  knew 
not  what  to  say.  What  he  did  say  seemed  only  to  have  the  effect 
of  making  her  more  dogged  in  her  opposition  than  ever,  and  he 
was  beginning  to  despair  of  success,  when  an  influential  auxiliary 
appeared  in  the  person  of  his  younger  brother.  To  him  the  elder 
instantly  appealed,  and  a  close  observer  might  have  detected 
another  change  in  the  countenance  of  the  old  dame  at  the  approach 
of  her  younger  son.  The  features  grew  more  feminine,  and  there 
was  an  expression  of  conscious  dependance  in  the  lines  of  her 


THE     YEMASSEE.  323 

cheek  and  the  half  parted  lips,  which  necessarily  grew  out  of  the 
greater  love  which  she  bore  to  the  one  over  the  other  child. 

"  And  what  do  you  say,  Hughey,  my  son  ?"  inquired  the  oicl 
dame,  affectionately. 

"  What  have  I  said,  mother  ?"  was  the  brief  response. 

"  And  we  must  go  to  the  Block  House,  Hughey  ?" 

"  Did  we  not  set  out  to  go  there  ?" 

"But  the  parson  thinks  there  is  no  danger,  Hughey." 

"  That  is,  doubtless,  what  he  thinks.  There  are  others  having 
quite  as  much  experience,  who  think  there  is  danger,  and  as  you 
have  come  so  far,  it  will  not  be  much  additional  trouble  to  go  far 
ther  and  to  a  place  of  safety.  Remember  my  fattier — he  thought 
there  was  no  danger,  and  he  was  scalped  for  it." 

The  young  man  spoke  gravely  and  without  hesitation,  but  with 
a  manner  the  most  respectful.  His  words  were  conclusive  with  his 
mother,  whose  jewel  he  unquestionably  was,  and  his  last  reference 
was  unnecessary.  Drawing  the  strings  of  her  hat,  with  a  half  sup 
pressed  sigh,  she  prepared  to  leave  a  circle  somewhat  larger  and 
consequently  somewhat  more  cheerful  than  that  to  which  she  had 
been  accustomed.  In  the  meantime,  a  little  by-play  had  been  going 
on  between  the  elder  brother  and  Bess  Matthews,  whose  apprehen 
sions,  but  poorly  concealed,  had  been  brought  into  acute  activity 
on  hearing  of  the  precarious  adventure  which  her  lover  had  under 
taken.  This  dialogue,  however,  \v us  soon  broken  by  the  departure 
of  Dame  Grayson,  attended  by  her  elder  son,  the  younger  remain 
ing  behind,  much  against  the  desire  of  the  anxious  mother,  though 
promising  soon  to  follow.  Their  departure  was  succeeded  by  a 
few  moments  of  profound  and  somewhat  painful  silence,  for  which 
each  of  the  parties  had  a  particular  reason.  The  pastor,  though 
obstinately  resolved  not  to  take  the  counsel  given  by  Harrison,  was 
yet  not  entirely  satisfied  with  his  determination  ;  and  the  proba 
bility  is,  that  a  single  circumstance  occurring  at  that  time,  so  as  to 
furnish  a  corresponding  authority  from  another,  might  have  brought 
about  a,  change  in  his  decision.  His  wife  was,  comparatively 
speaking,  a  taciturn  body,  particularly  when  the  widow  Grayson 
was  present.  She  was,  just  now,  a,  little  bewildered  also,  between 
the  extremes  of  counsel, — Harrison's  on  the  one  hand  and  the  j'ar 


324  THE    YEMASSEE. 

son's  on  the  other.  She  accordingly  looked  her  bewilderment 
only,  and  said  nothing,  while  Bess  Matthews,  filled  only  with  ap 
prehensions  of  her  lover,  in  supposed  danger  from  the  Yemassees, 
was  as  little  capable  of  thought  or  speech.  She  could  contribute 
nothing  to  the  discussion. 

Young  Grayson,  too,  had  his  peculiar  cause  of  disquiet,  and, 
with  a  warm  passion,  active  yet  denied,  in  his  heart — and  a  fierce 
mood  for  ambition,  kept  within  those  limits  which  prescription  and 
social  artifice  so  frequently  wind,  as  with  the  coil  of  the  constrictor, 
around  the  lofty  mind  and  the  upsoaring  spirit,  keeping  it  down 
to  earth,  and  chaining  it  in  a  bondage  as  degrading  as  it  is  un 
natural — he  felt  in  no  humour  to  break  through  the  restraints 
which  fettered  the  goodly  company  about  him.  Still,  the  effort 
seemed  properly  demanded  of  him,  and,  referring  to  the  common 
movement,  he  commenced  the  conversation  by  regretting,  with  a 
commonplace  phraseology,  the  prospect  held  forth,  so  injurious  to 
die  settlement,  by  any  approaching  tumult  among  the  Indians. 
Che  old  pastor  fortified  his  decision  not  to  remove,  by  repeating  his 
jld  confidence  in  their  quiet : — 

"  The  Indians,"  said  he,  "  have  been  and  are  quiet  enough.  We 
have  no  reason  to  anticipate  assault  now.  It  is  true,  they  have 
the  feelings  of  men,  and  as  they  have  been  injured  by  some  of  our 
traders,  and  perhaps  by  some  of  our  borderers;,  they  may  have  cause 
of  complaint,  and  a  few  of  them  may  even  be  desirous  of  revenge. 
This  is  but  natural.  But,  if  this  were  the  general  feeling,  we 
should  have  seen  its  proofs  before  now.  They  would  seek  it  in 
individual  enterprises,  and  would  strike  and  slay  those  who 
wronged  them.  Generally  speaking,  they  have  nothing  to  com 
plain  of;  for,  since  that  excellent  man,  Charles  Craven,  has  been 
governor,  he  has  been  their  friend,  even  in  spite  of  the  Assembly, 
who,  to  say  truth,  have  been  nowise  sparing  of  injustice  wherever 
the  savage  has  been  concerned.  Again,  I  say,  I  see  not  why  we 
should  apprehend  danger  from  the  Yemassees  at  this  moment." 

As  if  himself  satisfied  with  the  force  of  what  he  had  said,  the 
pastor  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  closed  his  eyes  and 
crossed  his  hands  in  complacent  style,  his  look  wearing  an  ap 
pearance  of  most  satisfactory  conclusion — solemnly  assured,  and 


THE  YEMASSEE.  325 

authoritatively  content.  Our  parson  had,  we  fear,  quite  03  much 
pride  in  his  head,  as  devotion  in  his  heart.  Grayson  replied 
briefly  : — 

"  Yet  there  are  some  evidences  which  should  not  be  disregarded. 
San u tee,  notoriously  friendly  as  he  has  been  to  us,  no  longer  visits 
us — he  keeps  carefully  away,  and  when  seen,  his  manner  is  re 
strained,  and  his  language  anything  but  cordial.  Ishiagaska,  too, 
has  been  to  St.  Augustine,  brought  home  large  presents  for  him 
self  and  other  of  the  chiefs,  and  has  paid  a  visit  to  the  Creeks,  the 
Apalachian,  and  other  tribes — besides  bringing  home  with  him 
Chigilli,  the  celebrated  Creek  war-chief,  who  has  been  among  the 
Yemassees  ever  since.  Now,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  there  is  much 
that  calls  for  attention  in  the  simple  intercourse  of  foes  so  invete 
rate  hitherto  as  the  Spaniards  and  Yemassees.  Greater  foes  have 
not  often  been  known,  and  this  new  friendship  is  therefore  the 
more  remarkable  ;  conclusive,  indeed,  when  we  consider  the  cold- 
.  ness  of  the  Yemassees  towards  us  just  as  they  have  contracted  thip 
new  acquaintance ;  the  fury  with  which  they  revolutionized  tho 
nation,  upon  the  late  treaty  for  their  lands,  and  the  great  difficulty 
which  Sanutee  had  in  restraining  them  from  putting  our  commis 
sioners  to  death." 

u  Ah,  that  was  a  bad  business,  but  the  fault  was  on  our  side. 
Our  Assembly  would  inveigle  with  the  young  chiefs,  and  bribe  them 
against  the  will  of  the  old,  though  Governor  Craven  told  them 
what  they  might  expect,  and  warned  them  against  the  measure. 

have  seen  his  fine  letter  to  the  Assembly  on  that  very  point." 

"  We  differ,  Mr.  Matthews,  about  the  propriety  of  the  measure,  / 
for  it  is  utterly  impossible  that  the  whites  and  Indians  should  evei  j 
live  together  and  agree.     The  nature  of  things  is  against  it,  and  j 
the  very  difference  between  the  two,  that  of  colour,  perceptible  to 
our  most  ready  sentinel,   tlie^i^hj^jiiult  always  constitute  them 
•an  inferior  caste  in  our  minds.     Apart  from  this,  an  obvious  supe 
riority  in  arts  and  education  must  soon  force  upon  them  the  con 
sciousness  of  their  inferiority.    When  this  relationship  is  considered, 
in  connexion  with  the  uncertainty  of  their  resources   and   means 
of  life,  it  will  be  seen  that,  after  a  while,  they  must  not  only  be 
inferior,  but  they  must  become  dependant.    When  this  happens,  and 


326  THE    YEMASSEE. 

it  will  happen  \\iih  the  diminution  of  their  hunting  lands,  circum 
scribed,  daily,  more  and  more,  as  they  are  by  our  approaches,  they 
must  become  degraded,  and  sink  into  slavery  and  destitution.  A 
few  of  them  have  become  so  now  ;  they  are  degraded  by  brutal 
habits, — and  the  old  chiefs  have  opened  their  eyes  to  the  danger 
among  their  yoiwig  men,  from  the  seductive  poisons  introduced 
among  them  by  our  traders.  They  begin  too,  to  become  strait 
ened  in  their  hunting  grounds.  They  lose  by  our  contact  in  every 
way  ;  and  to  my  mind,  the  best  thing  we  can  do  for  them  is  to 
send  them  as  far  as  possible  from  communion  with  our  people.'' 

"  What !  and  deny  them  all  the  benefits  of  our  blessed  religion  ?" 

"  By  no  means,  sir.  The  old  apostles  would  have  gone  along 
with,  or  after  them.  Unless  the  vocation  of  the  preacher  be  very 
much  changed  in  times  present  from  times  past,  they  will  not, 
therefore,  be  denied  any  of  the  benefits  of  religious  education." 

The  answer  somewhat  changed  the  direction  of  our  pastor's  dis 
course,  who,  though  a  very  well  meaning,  was  yet  a  very  sleek 
and  highly  providential  person;  and,  while  his  wits  furnished  no 
ready  answer  to  this  suggestion,  he  was  yet  not  prepared,  himself, 
for  an  utter  remove  from  all  contact  with  civilization,  and  the  good 
things  known  to  the  economy  of  a  Christian  kitchen.  As  he  said 
nothing  in  reply,  Grayson  proceeded  thus : — 

"  There  is  yet  another  circumstance  upon  which  I  have  made  no 
-emark,  yet  which  seems  important  at  this  moment  of  doubt,  and 
possibly  of  danger.  This  guarda  costa,  'lying  in  the  river  for  so 
many  days,  without  any  intercourse  with  our  people,  and  seem 
ingly  with  no  object,  is  at  least  singular.  She  is  evidently  Spanish  ; 
and  the  report  is,  that  on  her  way,  she  was  seen  to  put  into  every 
inlet  along  the  coast — every  bay  and  creek  along  the  rivers — and 
here  we  find  her,  uot  coming  to  the  shore,  but  moored  in  the 
stream,  ready  to  cut  cable  and  run  at  a  moment.  What  can  be 
her  object  ?" 

k*  You  have  been  at  some  pains,  Master  Hugh  Grayson,  1  see,  to 
get  evidence  ;  but  so  far  as  this  vessel  or  guarda  costa  is  concerned, 
1  think  I  may  venture  to  say  she  is  harmless.  She  is  not  a 
Spanish,  but  an  English  vessel.  As  to  her  putting  into  this  creek 
*»r  that,  1  can  say  nothing — she  may  have  done  so,  and  it  is  very 


THE    YEMASSEE.  827 

oro'iMble,  for  she  comes  especially  to  get  furs  and  skins  from  the 
Indians.  I  know  her  captain — at  least  I  knew  him  when  a  boy — 
a  wild  youth  from  my  own  county — who  took  to  the  sea  for  the 
mere  love  of  roving.  He  was  wild,  and  perhaps  a  little  vicious, 
when  young,  and  may  be  so  now ;  but  I  have  his  own  word  that 
his  object  is  trade  with  the  Indians  for  furs  and  skins,  as  I  have 
told  you.1' 

"  And  why  not  with  the  whites  for  furs  and  skins  ?  No,  sir ! 
He  needs  no  furs,  and  of  this  I  have  evidence  enough.  I  had  a 
fine  parcel,  which  I  preferred  rather  to  sell  on  the  spot  than  send 
to  Charleston,  but  he  refused  to  buy  from  me  on  the  most  idle  pre 
tence.  This,  more  than  any  thing  else,  makes  me  doubt ;  and,  in 
his  refusal,  I  feel  assured  there  is  more  than  we  know  of.  •  Like 
yourself,  I  have  been  slow  to  give  ear  to  these  apprehensions,  yet 
they  have  forced  themselves  upon  me ;  and  precaution  is  surely 
better,  even  though  at  some  trouble,  when  safety  is  the  object. 
My  brother,  from  whom  I  have  several  facts  of  this  kind  withhi 
the  last  hour,  is  himself  acquainted  with  much  in  the  conduct  of 
the  Indians,  calculated  to  create  suspicion,  and  from  Captain  Har 
rison  he  gets  the  rest." 

"  Ay,  Harrison  again — no  evidence  is  good  without  him.  He 
is  everywhere,  and  with  him  a  good  jest  is  authority  enough  at 
any  time." 

"  I  love  him  not,  sir,  any  more  than  yourself,"  said  Grayson, 
gloomily  ;  "  but  there  is  reason  in  what  he  tells  us  now." 

"Father!"  said  Bess,  coming  forward,  and  putting  her  hand 
tenderly  on  the  old  man's  shoulder — "  hear  to  Master  Grayson — 
he  speaks  for  the  best.  Let  us  go  to  the  Block,  only  for  the  night, 
or  at  most  two  or  three  nights — for  Gabriel  said 'the  danger  would 
be  soon  over." 

"  Go  to,  girl,  and  be  not  foolish.  Remember,  too,  to  speak  of 
gentlemen  by  their  names  in  full,  with  a  master  before  them,  or 
such  title  as  the  law  or  usage  gives  them.  Go!" 

The  manlier  in  which  Harrison  had  been  referred  to  by  the 
daughter,  offended  Grayson  not  less  than  it  did  her  father,  and, 
though  now  well  satisfied  of  the  position  in  which  the  parties  stood 
he  could  not  prevent  the  muscles  of  his  brow  contracting  sternly, 


828  THE    YEMASSEE. 

and  his  eyes  bending  down  sullenly  upon  her.     The  old  lady  now 
put  in : — 

"Really,  John,  you  are  too  obstinate.  Here  are  all  against  you, 
and  there  is  so  little  trouble,  and  there  may  be  so  much  risk.  You 
may  repent  when  it  is  too  late." 

"  You  will  have  something  then  to  scold  about,  dame,  and 
therefore  should  not  complain.  But  all  this  is  exceedingly  child 
ish,  and  you  will  do  me  the  favour,  Master  Grayson,  to  discourse 
of  other  things,  since,  as  I  see  not  any  necessity  to  fly  from  those 
who  have  been  friends  always,  I  shall)  for  this  good  night  at  least, 
remain  just  where  I  am.  For  you,  wife,  and  you,  Bess,  if  you 
will  leave  me,  you  are  both  at  liberty  to  go." 

"  Leave  you,  father,"  exclaimed  Bess,  sinking  on  one  knee  by 
the  old  man's  side — "  Oh !  do,  not  speak  unkindly.  1  will  stay, 
and  if  there  be  danger,  will  freely  share  it  with  you,  in  what 
ever  form  it  may  ch-ince  to  come." 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Bess — a  little  timid,  perhaps,  but  time 
will  cure  you  of  that,"  and  patting  her  on  the  head,  the  old  man 
rose,  and  took  his  way  from  the  house  into  his  cottage  enclosure. 
Some  housel  old  duties  at  the  same  moment  demand) ig  the  con- 
biderat^n  of  the  old  lady  in  another  room,  she  lef  the  young 
people  \loD'  'ogether. 


CHAPTER     XXXIX. 


"  A  cruel  tale  for  an  unwilling  ear, 
And  maddening  to  the  spirit.    But  go  on — 
Speak  daggers  to  ray  soul,  which,  though  it  feels, 
Thou  cuu'st  not  warp  to  wrong  by  injuries." 


THE  departure  of  the  pastor  and  his  wife  was  productive  of 
some  little  awkwardness  in  those  who  remained.  For  a  few  mo 
ments,  a  deathlike  stillness  succeeded.  Well  aware  that  her  aftec- 
tfons  for  Harrison  were  known  to  her  present  companion,  a  feeling 
not  altogether  unpleasant,  of  maiden  bashfulness,  led  the  eyes  of 
Bess  to  the  floor,  and  silenced  her  speech.  A  harsher  mood, 
for  a  time,  produced  a  like  situation  on  the  part  of  Grayson  ; 
but  it  lasted  not  long.  With  a  sullen  sort  of  resolution,  gathering 
into  some  of  that  energetic  passion,  as  he  proceeded,  which  so 
much  marked  his  character,  he  broke  the  silence  at  length  with 
a  word — a  single  word — uttered  desperately,  as  it  were,  and  with 
a  half  choking  enunciation  : — 

"  Miss  Matthews—" 

She  looked  up  at  the  sound,  and  as  she  beheld  the  dark  ex 
pression  of  his  eye,  the  concentrated  glance,  the  compressed  lip — 
as  if  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  utter  that  which  he  felt  at  the 
same  time  must  be  uttered — she  half  started,  and  the  "  Sir"  wito 
which  she  acknowledged  his  address  was  articulated  timorously. 

"  Be  not  alarmed,  Miss  Matthews  ;  be  not  alarmed.  I  see  what 
I  would  not  see.  I  see  that  I  am  an  object  rather  of  fear,  rather  of 
dislike — detestation  it  may  be — ihan  of  any  other  of  those  sweetei 
feelings  I  would  freely  give  my  life  to  inspire  in  your  heart." 

"  You  wrong  me,  Master  Grayson,  indeed  you  do.  I  have  no  such 
feelings  for  you,  as  those  you  speak  of.  I  do  not  dislike  or  de 
test  you,  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  you  think  so.  Dfl 
not  think  so,  I  beg  you." 


830  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  But  you  fear  me — you  fear  me,  Miss  Matthews,  and  the  feeling 
is  much  the  same.  Yet  why  should  you  fear  me — what  hare  I 
done,  what  said  ?" 

"  You  startle  me,  Master  Grayson — not  that  I  fear  you,  for  I 
have  no  cause  to  fear  when  I  have  no  desire  to  harm.  But,  in 
truth,  sir — when  you  look  so  wildly  and  speak  so  strangely,  I  feel 
unhappy  and  apprehensive  ;  and  yet — I  do  not  fear  you." 

He  looked  upon  her  as  she  spoke  with  something  of  a  smile — a 
derisive  smile. 

"  Yet,  if  you  knew  all,  Miss  Matthews — if  you  bad  seen  and 
heard  all — ay,  even  of  the  occurrences  of  the  last  few  hours,  you 
would  both  fear  and  hate  me." 

u  I  do  not  fear  to  hear,  Master  Grayson,  and  therefore  I  beg  that 
you  will  speak  out.  You  cannot,  surely,  design  to  terrify  me  ? 
Let  me  but  think  so,  sir,  though  for  a  moment  only,  and  you  will 
as  certainly  fail." 

"  You  are  strong,  but  not  strong  euough  to  hear,  without  terror, 
the  story  I  could  tell  you.  I  said  you  feared,  and  perhaps  hated 
mQ — more — perhaps  you  despise  me.  I  despise  myself,  sincerely, 
deeply,  for  some  of  my  doings,  of  which  you— my  mad  passion  to* 
you,  rather — has  been  the  cause." 

"Speak  no  more  of  this,  Master  Grayson — freely  did  I  forgi/e 
you  that  error — I  would  also  forget  it,  sir." 

"  That  forgiveness  was  of  no  avail — my  heart  has  grown  more 
black,  more  malignant  than  ever  ;  and  no  need  for  wonder!  Let 
your  thoughts  go  back  and  examine,  along  with  mine,  its  history  ; 
for,  though,  in  this  search,  I  feel  the  accursed  probe  irritating  anew 
at  every  touch  the  yet  bleeding  wound^I  am  not  unwilling  that  my 
own  hand  should  direct  it.  Hear  me.  We  were  children  toge 
ther,  Bess  Matthews. — In  our  infancy,  in  another  land,  we  played 
happily  together.  AVhen  we  came  to  this,  unconscious  almost  of 
our  remove,  for  at  first  we  were  not  separated, — when  the  land  was 
new,  and  our  fathers  felled  the  old  trees  and  made  a  cabin  in  com 
mon  for  them  both,  for  three  happy  years  we  played  together  undei 
the  same  shelter.  Day  by  day  found  us  inseparate,  and,  at  that 
time,  mutual  dependants.  Each  day  gave  us  a  new  consciousness, 
i^d  every  new  consciousness  taught  us  a  most  unselfish  division  of 


THE     YEMASSEE.  331 

our  gains.     I  feel  that  such  was  your  spirit,  Bess  Matthews — do 
me  the  justice  to  say,  you  believe  such  was  ray  spirit  also." 

"  It  was — I  believe  it,  Hugh — Master  Grayson,  I  mean." 

"  Oh,  be  not  so  frigid — say  Hugh — Hugh,  as  of  old  you  used  to  say 
it,"  exclaimed  the  youth  passionately,  as  she  made  the  correction. 

"  Such  was  your  spirit  then,  Hugh,  I  willingly  say  it.  You 
were  a  most  unselfish  playmate.  I  have  always  done  ^Tou  justice 
in  my  thought.  I  am  glad  still  to  do  so." 

"  Then  our  school-mate  life — that  came — three  months  to  me  in 
the  year,  with  old  Squire  Downie,  while  you  had  all  the  year.  I 
envied  you  that,  Bess,  though  I  joyed  still  in  your  advantages. 
What  was  my  solace  the  rest  of  the  year,  when,  without  a  feeling 
for  my  labour,  I  ran  the  furrows,  and  following  my  father's  footsteps, 
dropped  the  grain  into  them  ?  What  was  my  solace  then  ?  Let  me 
answer,  as  perhaps  you  know  not.  The  thought  of  the  night,  when, 
unwearied  by  all  exertion,  I  should  fly  over  to  your  cottage,  and  chat 
with  you  the  few  hours  between  nightfall  and  bedtime.  .1  loved  you 
then. — That  was  love,  though  neither  of  us  knew  it.  It  was  not  the 
search  after  the  playmate,  but  after  the  playmate's  heart,  that  carried 
me  there ;  for  my  brother,  with  whom  you  played  not  less  than  with 
myself, — he  sank  wearied  to  his  bed,  though  older  and  stronger  than 
myself.  I  was  unfatigued,  for  I  loved  ;  and  thus  it  is  that  the  body, 
taking  its  temper  from  the  affections,  is  strong  or  weak,  bold  01 
timid,  as  they  warm  into  emotion,  or  freeze  with  indifference.  But 
day  after  day,  and  night  after  night,  I  came ;  unrelaxing,  unchang 
ing,  to  watch  your  glance,  to  see  the  play  of  your  lips — to  be  tin 
adoring  boy,  afraid  sometimes  even  to  breathe,  certainly  to  speak, 
through  fear  of  breaking  the  spell,  or  possibly  of  offending  tin 
divinity  to  whom  I  owed  so  much,  and  sent  up  feelings  in  prayer 
so  devoutly." 

"  Speak  not  thus  extravagantly,  Master  Grayson,  or  I  must  leave 
you." 

"  Hugh — call  me  Hugh,  will  you  cot  ?  It  bears  me  back — back 
to  the  boyhood  I  would  I  had  never  ri?en  from." 

"  Hugh,  then,  I  will  call  you,  and  w?'th  a  true  pJeasure.  Ay 
more,  Hugh,  I  will  be  to  you  again  the  si&tev  vo*\  *bun^  me  then 
but  you  must  not  run  on  so  idly." 


832  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Idly,  indeed,  Bess  Matthews,  when  for  a  dearer  and  a  sweeter 
name  I  must  accept  that  of  sister.  But  let  me  speak  ere  I  madden 
Time  came  with  all  his  changes.  The  neighbourhood  thickened, 
we  were  no  longer  few  in  number,  and  consequently  no  longer  de 
pendant  upon  one  another.  The  worst  change  followed  then,  Bess 
Matthews — the  change  in  you." 

"  How,  Hugh — you  saw  no  change  in  me.  I  have  surely  been 
the  same  always." 

"  No,  no — many  changes  I  saw  in  you.  Every  hour  had  its 
change,  and  most  of  them  were  improving  changes.  With  every 
change  you  grew  more  beautiful ;  and  the  auburn  of  your  hair  in 
changing  to  a  deep  and  glossy  brown,  and  the  soft  pale  of  your 
girlish  cheek  in  putting  on  a  leaf  of  the  most  delicate  rose,  and  the 
bright  glance  of  your  eye  in  assuming  a  soft  arid  qualifying  moist 
ure  in  its  expression, — were  all  so  nrany  exquisite  changes  of  lovely 
to  lovelier,  and  none  of  them  unnoticed  by  rne.  My  eyes  were 
sentinels  that  slept  not  when  watching  yours.  I  saw  every  change, 
however  unimportant — however  unseen  by  others !  Not  a  glance 
— not  a  feature — not  a  tone — not  an  expression  did  I  leave  un 
studied  ;  and  every  portraiture,  indelibly  fixed  upon  my  memory, 
underwent  comparison  in  my  lingering  reflection  before  slumbering 
at  night.  Need  I  tell  you,  that  watching  your  person  thus,  your 
mind  underwent  a  not  less  scrupulous  examination.  I  weighed 
every  sentence  of  your  lips — every  thought  of  your  sense — every 
feeling  of  your  heart.  I  could  detect  the  unuttered  emotion  in 
your  eyes  ;  and  the  quiver  of  your  lip,  light  as  that  of  the  rose 
when  t/he  earliest  droppings  of  the  night  dew  steal  into  its  bosom, 
was  perceptible  to  that  keen  glance  of  love  which  I  kept  for  ever 
upon  you.  How  gradual  then  was  the  change  which  I  noted  day 
by  day.  He  came  at  length,  and  with  a  prescience  which  forms 
no  small  portion  of  the  spirit  of  a  true  affection,  I  cursed  him  when 
I  saw  him.  You  saw  him  too,  and  then  the  change  grew  rapid — 
dreadfully  rapid,  to  my  eyes.  He  won  you,  as  you  had  won  me. 
There  was  an  instinct  in  it.  You  no  longer  cared  whether  I  cama 
to  you  or  not — r 

"  Nay,  Hugh — there  you  are  wrong  again — I  was  always  glad — 
alwavs  most  hapoy  to  see  you." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  333 

"  You  think  so,  Bess  ; — I  am  willing  to  believe  you  think  so— 
but  it  is  you  who  are  wrong.  I  know  that  you  cared  not  whether 
I  came  or  not,  for  on  the  subject  your  thought  never  rested  .for  a 
moment,  or  but  for  r  moment.  I  soon  discovered  that  you  were 
also  important  in  his  sight,  and  I  hated  him  the  more  for  the 
discovery — I  hated  him  the  more  for  loving  you.  Till  this  day, 
however,  I  had  not  imagined  the  extent  to  which  you  had  both 
g0ne — I  hacl  not  feared,  I  had  not  felt  all  my  desolation.  I  had 
only  dreamed  of  and  dreaded  it.  But  when,  in  a  paroxysm  of 
madness,  I  looked  upon  you  and  saw — saw  your  mutual  lips — 

"  No  more,  Master  Grayson," — she  interposed  with  dignity. 

"  I  will  not — forgive  me ;  but  you  know  how  it  maddened  me, 
and  how  I  erred,  and  how  you  rebuked  me.  How  dreadful  was 
that  rebuke ! — but  it  did  not  restrain  the  error — it  impelled  me  to 
a  new  one — " 

"  What  new  one,  Hugh  ?" 

"  Hear  me !  This  man  Harrison — that  I  should  speak  his 
name  ! — that  I  should  speak  it  praisefully  too  ! — he  came  to  our 
cottage — showed  our  danger  from  the  Yemassees  to  iny  mother, 
and  would  have  persuaded  her  to  fly  this  morning — but  I  inter 
fered  and  prevented  the  removal.  He  saw  my  brother,  however, 
and  as  Walter  is  almost  his  worshipper,  he  was  more  successful 
with  him.  Leaving  you  in  a  mood  little  short  of  madness  this 
afternoon,  I  hurried  home,  but  there  I  could  not  rest,  and  vexed 
with  a  thousand  dreadful  thoughts,  I  wandered  from  the  house 
away  into  the  woods.  After  a  while  came  the  tread  of  a  horse  rapidly 
driving  up  the  river-trace,  arid  near  the  spot  where  I  wandered. 
The  rider  was  Harrison.  He  alighted  at  a  little  distance  from  rue, 
tied  his  horse  to  a  shrub,  and  threw  himself  just  before  me  upon 
the  grass.  A  small  tree  stood  between  us,  and  my  approach  was 
unnoticed.  I  heard  him  murmuring,  and  with  the  same  base  spirit 
which  prompted  me  to  look  down  on  your  meeting  to-day,  I  lis 
tened  to  his  language.  His  words  were  words  of  tenderness  aiul 
love — of  triumphant  love,  and  associated  with  your  name — he 
spoke  of  you — God  curse  him  !  as  his  own." 

The  word  "  Gabriel "  fell  unconsciously  from  the  lips  of  the 
maiden  as  she  heard  this  part  of  the  narrative.  For  a  moment 


334  THE   YEMASSEE. 

Grayson  paused,  and  his  brow  grew  black,  while  his  teeth  wero 
compressed  closely  ;  but  as  she  looked  up,  as  if  impatient  for  the 
rest  of  his  narrative,  he  went  on  : — 

"  Then  I  maddened.  Then  I  grew  fiendish.  I  know  not  whence 
the  impulse,  but  it  must  have  been  from  hell.  I  sprang  upon  him, 
and  with  the  energies  of  a  tiger  and  with  more  than  his  ferocity, 
I  pinioned  him  to  the  ground,  my  knee  upon  his  breast — one  hand 
upon  his  throat,  and  with  my  knife  in  the  other — 

"  Stay  ! — God — man — say  that  you  slew  him  not !  You  struck 
not — oh!  you  kept  back  your  hand — he  lives!"  Convulsed  with 
terror,  she  clasped  the  arm  of  the  speaker,  while  her  face  grew 
haggard  with  affright,  and  her  eyes  seemed  starting  from  theii 
sockets. 

"  I  slew  him  not !"  he  replied  solemnly. 

"  God  bless  you — God  bless  you  !"  was  all  that  she  could  utter 
as  she  sank  back  fainting  upon  the  floor  of  the  apartment 


CHAPTER    XL. 

'*Thou  hast  not  slain  her  with  thy  cruel  word,— 
Shu  Urea,  she  wakes — her  eyes  unclose  again, 
And  I  breathe  freely." 

PASSIONATE  and  thoughtless,  Hugh  Grayson  had  not  calculated 
the  consequences  of  his  imprudent  and  exciting  narrative  upon  a 
mind  so  sensitive.  He  was  now  aware  of  his  error,  and  his  alarm 
at  her  situation  was  extreme.  He  lifted  her  from  the  floor,  and 
supported  her  to  a  seat,  endeavouring,  as  well  as  he  could,  with 
due  care  and  anxiety,  to  restore  her  to  consciousness.  While  thus 
employed  the  pastor  re-entered  the  apartment,  and  his  surprise 
may  be  imagined. 

"  Ha!  what  is  the  matter  with  my  child?  what  has  happened  2 
what  alarmed  her?  Speak,  Master  Grayson  !  Tell  me  what  has 
caused  all  this  ! — My  child  ! — Bessy,  my  child  !  Look  up  !  open 
your  eyes.  Tell  me!  say  !  see,  it  is  thy  old  father  that  has  thec 
now.  Thou  art  safe,  my  child.  Safe  with  thy  father.  There  is 
no  danger  now.  Look  up,  look  up,  my  child,  and  speak  to  me  !" 

Without  answering,  Grayson  resigned  her  to  the  hands  of  the 
pastor,  and  with  folded  arms  and  a  face  full  of  gloomy  expression, 
stood  gazing  upon  the  scene  in  silence.  The  father  supported  her 
tenderly,  and  with  a  show  of  fervency  not  common  to  a  habit 
which,  from  constant  exercise,  and  the  pruderies  of  a  form  of  wor 
ship  rather  too  much  given  to  externals,  had,  in  progress  of  time, 
usurped  dominion  over  a  temper  originally  rather  passionate  than 
phlegmatic.  Exclaiming  all  the  while  to  the  unconscious  girl — - 
and  now  and  then  addressing  Grayson  in  a  series  of  broken  sen 
tences,  the  old  man  proved  the  possession  of  a  degree  of  regard 
for  his  child  which  might  have  appeared  doubtful  before.  Grayson 
mean  while,  stood  by, — an  awed  and  silent  spectator, — bitterly  re 
proaching  -  himself  for  his  imprudence  in  making  such  a  cormiMJ 


836          .  THE    YEMASSEE. 

nication,  and  striving,  in  his  own  mind,  to  forge  or  force  an  apology 
at  least  to  himself,  for  the  heedlessness  which  had  marked  his 
conduct. 

"  What,  Master  Grayson,  has  been  the  cause  of  this  ?  Speak 
out,  sir — my  daughter  is  my  heart,  and  you  have  trifled  with  her 
Beware,  sir. — I  am  an  old  man,  and  a  professor  of  a  faith  wlios 
essence  is  peace ;  but  I  am  still  a  man,  sir — with  the  feelings  and 
the  passions  of  a  man  ;  and  sooner  than  my  child  should  suffer 
wrong,  slight  as  a  word,  I  will  even  throw  aside  that  faith  and 
become  a  man  of  blood.  Speak,  sir,  what  has  made  all  this  ?" 

The  youth  grew  firmer  under  such  an  exhortation,  fo-r  his  was 
the  nature  to  be  won  rather  than  commanded.  He  looked  firmly 
into  the  face  of  the  speaker,  and  his  brow  gathered  to  a  frown. 
The  old  man  saw  it,  and  saw  in  the  confidence  his  glance  expressed 
that  however  he  might  have  erred,  he  had  at  least  intended  no  dis 
respect.  As  this  conviction  came  to  his  mind,  he  immediately 
addressed  his  companion  in  a  different  character,  while  returning 
consciousness  in  his  daughter's  eyes  warned  him  also  to  modera 
tion. 

*  I  have  been  harsh,  Master  Grayson — harsh,  indeed,  my  son  ; 
but  my  daughter  is  dear  to  me  as  the  fresh  blood  around  my  heart, 
and  suffering  with  her  is  soreness  and  more  than  suffering  to  me. 
Forbear  to  say,  at  this  time — I  see  that  she  has  misunderstood  you, 
or  her  sickness  may  have  some  other  cause.  Look — bring  me 
some  water,  my  son." 

"  My  son  !"  muttered  Grayson  to  himself  as  he  proceeded  to 
the  sideboard  where  stood  the  pitcher.  Pouring  some  of  its  con 
tents  into  a  glass,  he  approached  the  maiden,  whose  increasing  sighs 
indicated  increasing  consciousness.  The  old  man  was  about  to 
take  the  glass  from  his  hands  when  her  unclosing  eye  rested  upon 
him.  With  a  shriek  she  started  to  her  feet,  and  lifting  her  hand 
as  if  to  prevent  his  approach,  and  averting  her  eye  as  if  to  shut 
his  presence  from  her  sight,  she  exclaimed — 

"  Away  !  thou  cruel  murderer — come  not  nigh  me — look  not  on 
me— touch  me  not  with  thy  hands  of  blood.  Touch  me  not— 
away !" 

"  God  of  Heaven  !"  exclaimed  Grayson,  in  like  horror, — "  what 


THE     YEMASSEE.  387 

indeed  have  I  done  ?     Forgive  me,  Miss   Matthews,  forgive  me — 
I  am  no  murderer.     He  lives — I  struck  him  not.     Forgive  me  !" 

"  I  have  no  forgiveness — none.  Thou  hast  lifted  thy  hand 
against  God's  image — thou  hast  sought  to  slay  a  noble  gentleman 
to  whom  thou  art  as  nothing.  Away —  let  me  not  look  upon  thee  !" 

"  Be  calm,  Bess — my  daughter.  Thou  dost  mistake.  This  is 
no  murderer — this  is  our  young  friend,  thy  old  playmate,  Hugh 
Gray  son." 

"  Ay !  he  came  with  that  old  story,  of  how  we  played  together, 
and  spoke  of  his  love  and  all — and  then  showed  me  a  knife,  and 
lifted  his  bloody  hands  to  my  face,  and — Oh  !  it  was  too  horrible." 
And  she  shivered  at  the  association  of  terrible  objects  which  hei 
imagination  continued  to  conjure  up. 

"Thou  hast  wrought  upon  her  over  much,  Master  Grayson,  and 
though  I  think  with  no  ill  intent,  yet  it  would  seem  with  but  small 
judgment." 

"True,  sir — and  give  me,  I  pray  you,  but  a  few  moments  with 
your  daughter — a  few  moments  alone,  that  I  may  seek  to  undc 
this  cruel  thought  which  she  now  appears  to  hold  me  in.  But  a 
few  moments — believe  me,  I  shall  say  nothing  unkind  or  offensive." 

"  Leave  me  not,  father — go  not  out — rather  let  him  go  where  I 
may  riot  see  him,  for  he  has  been  a  base  spy,  and  would  have  been 
a  foul  murderer,  but  that  the  good  spirit  held  back  his  hand." 

"  Thou  sayest  rightly,  Bess  Matthews — I  have  been  base  and 
foul — but  thou  sayest  ungently  and  against  thy  better  nature,  for 
1  have  scorned  myself  that  1  was  so.  Give  me  leave — let  thy 
fa '.her  go — turn  thy  head — close  thine  eyes.  I  ask  thee  not  to 
look  upon  me,  but  hear  me,  and  the  quest  which  I  claim  rather 
from  thy  goodness  than  from  any  meri  tings  of  mine  own." 

There  was  a  gloomy  despondence  in  his  looks,  and  a  tone  of 
wretched  self-abandonment  in  his  voice,  that  went  to  the  heart  of 
the  maiden,  as,  while  he  spoke,  she  turned,  and  her  eyes  were  bent 
upon  him.  Looking  steadfastly  upon  his  face  for  a  few  moments 
after  he  had  ceased  speaking,  she  appeared  slowly  to  deliberate  ; 
then,  as  if  satisfied,  she  turned  to  her  father,  and  with  a  motion  of 
her  hand  signified  her  consent.  The  old  man  retired,  and  Gray- 
son  would  have  led  her  to  a  seat ;  but  rejecting  his  proffered  aid 


338  THE    YEMASSEE. 

with  much  firmness,  she  drew  a  chair,  and  motioning  him  also  t« 
one  at  a  litt1^  distance,  she  prepared  to  hear  him. 

"  I  needed  i*  ^  this,  Miss  Matthews,  to  feel  how  deeply  I  had 
erred — I^ow  dre  dfully  I  have  been  punished.  When  you  know 
that  I  have  had  1  t  one  stake  in  life — that  I  have  lived  but  for  one 
object — and  have  lived  in  vain  and  am  now  denied, — you  will  not 
need  to  be  told  how  completely  unnecessary  to  my  torture  and  trial 
is  the  suspicion  of  your  heart,  and  the  coldness  of  your  look  and 
manner.  I  came  to-night  and  sought  this  interview,  hopeless  of 
anything  beside,  at  least  believing  myself  not  altogether  unworthy 
of  your  esteem.  To  prove  this  more  certainly  to  your  mind,  1  laid 
bare  my  own.  I  suppressed  nothing — you  saw  my  uncovered 
soul,  and  without  concealment  I  resolutely  pointed  out  to  you  all 
its  blots — all  its  deformities.  I  spoke  of  my  love  for  you,  of  its 
extent,  not  that  I  might  claim  any  from  you  in  return — for  I  saw 
that  such  hope  was  idle  ;  and,  indeed,  knowing  what  I  do,  and  how 
completely  your  heart  is  in  the  possession  of  another,  were  ii 
offered*  to  me  at  this  moment,  could  I  accept  of  it  on  any  terms? 
Base  as  I  have  been  for  a  moment — criminal,  as  at  another  moment 
I  would  have  been,  I  value  still  too  deeply  my  own  affections  to 
yield  them  to  one  who  cannot  make  a  like  return,  and  with  as  few 
reservations.  But  I  told  you  of  my  love  that  you  should  find 
something  in  its  violence — say  its  madness — to  extenuate,  if  not 
to  excuse,  the  errors  to  which  it  has  prompted  me.  I  studiously 
declared  those  errors,  the  better  to  prove  to  you  that  I  was  no 
hypocrite,  and  the  more  certainly  therefore  to  inspire  your  confi 
dence  in  one  who,  if  he  did  not  avoid,  was  at  least  as  little  willing 
to  defend  them.  1  came  to  you  for  your  pardon ;  and  unable  to 
win  your  love,  I  sought  only  for  your  esteem.  I  have  spoken." 

"  Master  Hugh  Grayson — I  have  heard  you,  and  am  willing  to 
believe  in  much  that  you  have  said;  but  I  am  not  prepared  to  be 
lieve  that  in  much  that  you  have  said  you  have  not  been  practising 
upon  yourself.  You  have  said  you  loved  me,  and  I  believe  it — 
sorry  I  am  that  you  should  love  unprofitably  anywhere — more 
sorry  still  that  I  should  be  the  unwitting  occasion  of  a  misspent  and 
profitless  passion.  "But,  look  closely  into  yourself — into  your  own 
thought;-,  and  then  ask  how  you  loved  me?  Let  me  answer — not 


^  _,r    -r 

THE    YEMASSEE.  339 

as  a  woman  —not  as  a  thinking  and  a  feeling  creature — but  as  » 
plaything,  whom  your  inconsiderate  passion  rnigh*  practise  upon 
at  will,  and  move  to  tears  or  smiles,  as  may  best  accord  with  a 
caprice  that  has  icver  .from  childhood  been  conscious  of  any  sub 
jection.  Even  row,  you  come  to  me  for  my  confidence — my 
esteem.  Yet  you  studiously  practise  upon  my  affections  and  emo 
tions — upon  my  wcvan  weaknesses.  You  saw  that  I  loved  another 
— I  shame  not  to  say  it,  for  I  believe  and  feel  it — and  you  watched 
me  like  a  spy.  You  h?d  there  no  regulating  principle  keeping 
down  impulse,  but  with  tb<j  caprice  of  a  bad  passion,  consenting  to 
a  meanness,  which  is  subject  to  punishment  in  our  very  slaves. 
Should  I  trust  the  man  who.  under  any  circumstances  save  those 
of  another's  good  and  safety,  should  deserve  the  epithet  of  eaves 
dropper  ?" 

"  Forbear — forbear — in  mercy  !" 

"  No,  Master  Grayson — let  me  not  forbear.  Were  it  principle 
and  not  pride  that  called  upon  me  to  forbear,  I  should  obey  it ; 
but  I  have  known  you  from  childhood,  Hugh,  and  I  speak  to  you 
now  with  all  the  freedom — and,  believe  me — with  all  the  affection 
of  that  period.  I  know  your  failing,  and  I  sueak  to  it.  I  would 
not  wound  your  heart,  I  only  aim  at  the  amendment  of  your  un 
derstanding.  I  would  give  it  a  true  direction.  I  believe  your 
heart  to  be  in  the  right  place — it  only  wants  that  youi  mind  should 
never  swerve  from  its  place.  Forgive  me,  therefore,  if,  speaking 
what  I  hold  to  be  just,  I  should  say  that  which  should  seem  to  be 
harsh  also." 

"  Go  on — go  on,  Miss  Matthews — I  can  bear  it  all — anything 
from  you." 

"  And  but  small  return,  Master  Grayson,  for  I  have  borne  much 
from  you.  Not  content  with  the  one  error,  which  freely  I  forgave 
— so  far  as  forgiveness  may  be  yielded  without  amendment  or  re 
pentance — you  proceeded  to  another — to  a  crime;  a  dark,  a  dread 
ful  crime.  You  sought  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature,  without  pro 
vocation,  and  worse  still,  Master  Grayson,  without  permitting  your 
enemy  the  common  footing  of  equality.  In  that  one  act  there  wa§ 
malignity,  murder,  and — " 

"  No  more — no  more — speak  it  not — n 


340  THE   YEMASSEE. 

» 

''Cowardice!" 

"  Thou  art  bent  to  crush  me  quite,  Bess  Matthews— tliou  would'st 
have  me  in  the  dust  —  thy  foot  on  my  head,  and  the  world  seeing  it. 
This  is  thy  triumph." 

"  A  sad  one,  Hugh  Grayson  —  a  sad  one  —  for  thou  hast  thy  good 

—  thy  noble  qualities,  wert  thou  not  a  slave." 
"Slave,  too  —  malignant,  murderer,  coward,  slave." 

"Ay,  to  thy  baser  thoughts,  and  from  these  would  I  free  thee. 
With  thce  —  I  believe — it  is  but  to  know  the  tyranny  to  overthrow  it. 
Thy  pride  of  independence  would  then  be  active,  and  in  that  particu 
lar  most  nobly  exercised.  But  let  me  proceed. " 

"  Is  there  more?" 

"Yes, —  and  thou  wilt  better  prove  thy  regard  for  my  esteem, 
when  thou  wilt  stand  patiently  to  hear  me  out.  Thou  didst  not  kill, 
but  all  the  feeling  of  death  —  the  death  of  the  mind  —  was  undergone 
by  thy  destined  victim.  He  felt  himself  under  thee,  he  saw  no  hope, 
he  looked  up  in  the  glance  of  thy  descending  knife,  and  knew  not 
that  the  good  mood  would  so  soon  return  to  save  him  from  death,  and 
thee  from  perdition.  In  his  thought  thou  didst  slay  him,  though  thou 
struck  no  blow  to  his  heart." 

"True,  true  —  I  thought  not  of  that." 

"Yet  thou  earnest  to  me,  Hugh  Grayson,  and  claimed  merit  for 
thy  forbearance.  Thou  wert  confident,  because  thou  didst  not  all  the 
crime  thy  first  criminal  spirit  proposed  to  thee.  Shall  I  suggest  that 
the  good  angel  which  interposed  was  thy  weakness  —  art  thou  sure 
that  the  dread  of  punishment,  and  not  the  feeling  of  good,  stayed  thee 
not?" 

"No!  as  I  Tive, —  as  I  stand  before  thee,  Bess  Matthews,  thou  dost 
me  wrong.  God  help  me,  no!  I  was  bad  enough,  and  base  enough, 
without  that  —  it  was  not  the  low  fear  of  the  hangman  —  not  the  rope 

—  not  the  death.     I  am  sure  it  was  anything  but  that." 

"  I  believe  you;  but  what  was  it  brought  you  to  me  with  all  this 
story — the  particulars  at  full, —  the  dreadful  incidents  one  upon  the 
other,  until  thou  saw'st  my  agony  under  the  uplifted  knife  aiming 
at  the  bosom  of  one  as  far  above  thee,  Hugh  Grayson,  in  all  that 
makes  the  nobie  gentleman,  as  it  is  possible  for  principle  to  be1 
above  passion,  and  the  love  of  God  and  good  works  superior  to  the 


THE   YEMASSEE.  341 

fear  of  punishment. — Where  was  thy  manliness  in  this  recital  ? 
Thou  hast  no  answer  here." 

"  Thou  speakest  proudly  for  him,  Bess  Matthews — it  is  well  he 
stands  so  high  in  thy  sight." 

"I  forgive  thee  that  sneer,  too,  Master  Grayson,  along  with  t!iy 
malignity,  thy  murder,  and  thy — manliness.  Be  thou  forgiven  of 
all — but  let  us  say  no  more  together.  My  regards  are  not  with 
me  to  bestow — they  belong  to  thy  doings,  and  thou  mayst  com 
mand,  not  solicit,  whenever  thou  dost  deserve  them.  Let  us  speak 
no  more  together." 

"  Cruel — most  heauless — am  I  so  low  in  thy  sight  ?  See,  I  am 
at  thy  feet — :trample  me  in  the  dust — I  will  not  shrink — I  will  not 
reproach  thee." 

"Thou  shouldst  shame  at  this  practice  upon  my  feelings.  Thou, 
Hugh  Grayson — with  thy  mind,  with  thy  pride — shouldst  not  aim 
to  do  by  passionate  entreaty  what  thou  mayst  not  do  oy  sense  and 
right  reason.  Rise,  sir — thou  canst  not  move  me  now.  Thou  hast 
undone  thyself  in  my  sight — thou  need'st  not  sink  at  my  leet  to 
have  me  look  do\v  n  upon  thee." 

Had  a  knife  gOiie  into  the  heart  of  the  young  man,  a  more 
agonizing  expression  could  not  have  overshadowed  his  countenance- 
The  firmness  of  the  maiden  had  taught  him  her  strength  not  less 
than  his  own  weakness.  He  felt  his  error,  and  with  the  mind  for 
which  she  had  given  him  credit,  he  rose  with  a  new  determination 
to  his  feet. 

"  Thou  art  right,  Miss  Matthews — and  in  all  that  has  passed, 
mine  has  been  the  error  and  the  wrong.  I  will  not  ask  for  the 
regards  which  I  should  command  ;  but  thou  shalt  hear  well  of  me 
henceforward,  arid  wilt  do  me  more  grateful  justice  when  we  meet 
again." 

"  I  take  thy  promise,  Hugh,  for  I  know  thy  independence  of 
character,  and  such  a  promise  will  not  be  necessaiy  now  for  thy 
good.  Take  my  hand — I  forgive  thee.  It  is  my  weakness,  per 
haps,  to  do  so — but  I  forgive  thee." 

He  seized  her  hand,  which  she  had,  with  a  girlish  iranKnesa, 
extended  to  him,  carried  it  suddenly  to  his  lips,  and  immediately 
left  the  dwelling. 


CHAPTER    XLI 


*  The  storm  cloud  gathers  fast,  the  hoar's  at  ha*  V 
When  it  will  burst  in  fury  o'er  the  lanJ  ; 
Yet  is  the  quiet  beautiful — the  rush 
Of  the  sweet  south  is  all  disturbs  the  hush, 
While,  like  pure  spirits,  the  pale  night-stars  brood 
O'er  forests  which  the  Indian  bathes  in  blood." 


A  BRIEF  and  passing  dialogue  between  Grayson  and  the  pastor 
M  the  entrance,  partially  explained  to  the  latter  the  previous  his 
tory.  The  disposition  of  Matthews  in  regard  to  the  pretensions  of 
Grayson  to  his  daughter's  hand — of  which  he  had  long  been  con 
scious — was  rather  favourable  than  otherwise.  In  this  particular 
the  suit  of  Grayson  derived  importance  from  the  degree  of  ill-favour 
with  which  the  old  gentleman  had  been  accustomed  to  consider 
that  of  Harrison.  With  strong  prejudices,  the  pastor  was  quHe 
satisfied  to  obey  an  impression,  and  to  mistake,  as  with  persons  of 
strong  prejudices  is  frequently  the  case,  an  impulse  for  an  argu 
ment.  Not  that  he  could  urge  any  thing  against  the  suitor  who 
was  the  favourite  of  his  child — of  that  .he  felt  satisfied — but,  com 
ing  fairly  under  the  description  of  the  doggerel  satirist,  he  did  not 
dislike  Harrison  a  jot  less  for  having  little  reason  to  dislike  him. 
And  there  is  something  in  this. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  no  little  regret,  that  he  beheld  the  depar 
ture  of  Grayson  under  circumstances  so  unfavourable  to  his  suit. 
From  his  own,  and  the  lips  of  his  daughter,  alike,  he  had  beun 
'aught  to  understand  that  she  had  objections ;  but  the  emotion  of 
Grayson,  and  the  openly-expressed  indignation  of  Bess,  at  once 
satisfied  him  of  the  occurrence  of  that  which  effectually  excluded 
the  hope  that  time  might  effect  some  change  for  the  better.  He 
WH.S  content,  therefore,  simply  to  regret  what  his  own  good  senso 
taught  him  he  could  not  amend,  and  what  his  great  regard  for  his 
child's  peace  persuaded  him  not  to  attempt. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  343 

Grayson,  in  the  meantime,  hurried  away  under  strong  excitu- 
iru  /it.  He  had  felt  deeply  the  denial,  but  far  more  deeply  the 
rebukes  of  the  maiden.  She  had  searched  narrowly  into  his  inner 
mind — had  probed  close  its  weaknesses — had  laid  bare  to  his  own 
eyes  those  silent  motives  of  his  conduct,  which  he  had  not  himself 
dared  to  analyze  or  encounter.  His  pride  was  hurt  by  her  re 
proaches,  and  he  was  ashamed  of  the  discoveries  which  she  had 
made.  Though  mortified  to  the  soul,  however,  there  was  a  redeem 
ing  principle  at  work  within  him.  He  had  been  the  slave  of  his 
mood :  but  he  determined,  from  that  moment,  upon  the  overthrow 
of  the  tyranny.  To  this  she  had  counselled  him  ;  to  this  his 
own  pride  of  character  had  also  counselled  him ;  and,  though 
agonized  with  the  defeated  hopes  clamouring  in  his  bosom,  he 
adopted  a  noble  decision,  and  determined  to  be  at  least  worthy  of 
the  love  which  he  yet  plainly  felt  he  could  never  win.  His  course 
now  was  to  adopt  energetic  measures  in  preparing  for  any  contest 
that  might  happen  with  the  Indians.  Of  this  danger  he  was 
not  altogether  conscious.  He  did  not  imagine  it  so  near  at  hand, 
and  had  only  given  in  to  precautionary  measures  with  regard  to 
his  mother,  in  compliance  with  his  brother's  wish,  and  as  no  great 
inconvenience  could  result  from  their  temporary  removal.  But  the 
inflexible  obstinacy  of  the  pastor  in  refusing  to  take  the  shelter  of 
the  contiguous  Block  House,  led  him  more  closely  to  reflect  upon 
the  consequent  exposure  of  Bess  Matthews;  and, from  thus  reflect 
ing,  the  danger  became  magnified  to  his  eyes.  He  threw  himself 
upon  the  steed  of  Harrison,  as  soon  as  he  reached  the  Block 
House;  and  without  troubling  himself  to  explain  to  any  one  his 
intentions,  for  he  was  too  proud  for  that,  he  set  off  at  once,  and 
at  full  speed,  to  arouse  such  of  the  neighbouring  foresters  as  had 
not  yet  made  the.,  appearance  at  the  place  of  gathering,  or  had 
been  too  remotely  situated  for  previous  warning. 

The  old  pastor,  on  parting  with  the  disappointed  youth,  re- 
entered  the  dwelling,  and  without  being  perceived  by  his  daughter. 
She  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  apartment,  her  finger  upon  her 
lips,  and  absorbed  in  meditation  as  quiet  as  if  she  had  neve* 
before  been  disturbed  for  an  instant;  like  some  one  of  those  fin* 
embodiments  of  heavenward  devotion  we  meet  with  now  and  then 


844  THE   YEMASSEK 

in  a  Holy  Family  by  one  of  the  old  master.  He  approached  her, 
and  when  his  presence  became  evident,  she  knelt  suddenly  before 
him. 

"  Bless  me,  father — dear  father — bless  me,  and  let  me  retire." 

"  God  bless  you,  Bess — and  watch  over  and  protect  you — but 
what  disturbs  you  ?  You  are  troubled." 

"  I  know  not,  father — but  I  fear.  I  fear  something  terrible,  yet 
know  not  what.  My  thoughts  are  all  in  confusion." 

"  You  need  sleep,  my  child,  and  quiet.  These  excitements  and 
foolish  reports  have  worried  you ;  but  a  night's  sleep  will  make 
all  well  again.  Go  now — go  to  your  mother,  and  may  the  good 
angels  keep  you." 

With  the  direction  she  arose,  and  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
and  with  a  kiss,  affectionately  bidding  him  good  night,  she  retired 
to  her  chambei',  first  passing  a  few  brief  moments  with  her 
mother  in  the  adjoining  room.  Calling  to  the  trusty  negro  who 
performed  such  offices  in  his  household,  the  pastor  gave  orders  for 
the  securing  of  the  house,  and  retired  to  his  chamber  also.  July 
— the  name  of  the  negro — proceeded  to  fasten  the  windows, 
s  he  d  by  means  of  a  wooden  bolt;  and  thrusting  a 
thick  bar  of  knotted  pine  into  hooks  on  either  side  of  the  door, 
he  coolly  threw  himself  down  to  his  own  slumbers  alongside  of 
it.  We  need  scarcely  add,  knowing  the  susceptibility  of  the  black 
in  this  particular,  that  sleep  was  not  slow  in  its  approaches  to 
the  strongest  tower  in  the  citadel  of  his  senses.  The  subtle 
deity  soon  mastered  all  his  sentinels,  and  a  snore,  not  the  most 
scrupulous  in  the  world,  sent  forth  from  the  flattened  but  capacious 
nostrils,  soon  announced  his  entire  conquest  over  the  premises 
he  had  invaded. 

But  though  she  retired  to  her  chamber,  Bess  Matthews  in  vain 
sought  for  sleep.  Distressed  by  the  previous  circumstances,  and 
warmly  excited  as  she  had  been  by  the  trying  character  of  the 
scene  through  which  she  had  recently  passed,  she  had  vainly  en 
deavoured  to  find  that  degree  of  quiet,  which  she  felt  necessary  to 
her  mental  not  less  than  to  her  physical  repose.  After  tossing 
fruitlessly  on  her  couch  for  a  fatiguing  hour,  she  arose,  and  slightly 
unclosing  the  window,  the  only  one  in  her  chamber,  she  looked 


THE    YEMASSEE.  345 

fortL  upon  the  night.  It  was  clear,  with  many  stars — a  s.ight 
breeze  beiit  the  tree-tops,  and  their  murmurs,  as  they  swayod  to 
and  fro,  were  pleasant  to  her  melancholy  fancies,  liosv  could  she 
sleep  when  she  thought  of  the  voluntary  risk  taken  by  llarrisoii? 
Where  was  he  then — in  what  danger,  surrounded  by  what  deadly 
enemies  ? — perhaps  under  their  very  knives,  and  she  not  there  to 
interpose — to  implore  {'or — to  save  him.  How  could  she  fail  to 
love  so  much  disinterested  generosity — so  much  valour  and  adven 
ture,  taken,  as  with  a  pardonable  vanity,  she  fondly  thought,  so 
much  for  her  safety  and  for  the  benefit  of  hers.  Thus  musing,  thus 
watching,  she  lingered  at  the  window,  looking  forth,  but  half  con 
scious  as  she  gazed,  upon  the  thick  woods,  stretching  away  in  black 
masses,  of  those  old  Indian  forests.  Just  then,  the  moon  rose 
calmly  and  softly  in  tha  east — a  fresher  breeze  rising  along  \vith, 
and  gathering  seemingly  with  her  ascent.  The  river  wound  partly 
before  her  gaze,  and  there  was  a  long  bright  shaft  of  light — a  pure 
white  gleam,  which  even  its  ripples  could  not  .overcome  or  dissipate, 
borrowed  from  the  pale  orb  just  then  swelling  above  it.  Suddenly 
a  canoe  shot  across  the  water  in  the  distance — then  another,  and 
another — quietly,  and  with  as  little  show  of  life,  as  if  they  were 
only  the  gloomy  shades  of  the  past  generation's  warriors.  Not  a 
voice,  not  a  whisper — not  even  the  flap  of  an  oar,  disturbed  the 
deep  hush  of  the  scene ;  and  the  little  canoes  that  showed  dimly 
in  the  river  from  afar,  as  soon  as  they  had  overshot  the  pale  gleamy 
bar  of  the  moon  upon  its  bosom,  were  no  longer  perceptible.  Mus 
ing  upon  these  objects  with  a  vague  feeling  of  danger,  and  an  op 
pressive  sense  at  the  same  time  of  exhaustion,  which  forbade  any 
thing  like  a  coherent  estimate  of  the  thoughts  which  set  in  upon 
her  mind  like  so  many  warring  currents,  Bess  left  the  window,  and 
threw  herself,  listlessly  yet  sad,  upon  the  couch,  vainly  soliciting 
that  sleep  which  seemed  so  reluctant  to  come.  How  slow  was  its 
progress — how  long  before  she  felt  the  haze  growing  over  her  eye 
lids.  A  sort  of  stupor  succeeded — she  was  conscious  of  the  uncer 
tainty  of  her  perception,  and  though  still,  at  intervals,  the  beams 
from  the  fast  ascending  moon  caught  her  eyes,  they  flitted  before 
her  like  spiritual  forms  that  looked  on  and  came  but  to  depart. 
These  at  length  went  from  her  entirely  as  a  sudden  gust  closed  the 

5* 


346  THE    YEMASSEi). 

shutter,  and  a  difficult  and  not  very  sound  slumber  came  at  last  to 
her  relief. 

A  little  before  this,  and  with  the  first  moment  of  the  rise  of  the 
moon  on  the  eastern  summits,  the  watchful  Hector,  obedient  to  his 
orders,  prepared  to  execute  the  charge  which  his  master  had  given 
him  at  parting.  Releasing  Dugdale  from  the  log  to  which  he  had 
been  bound,  he  led  the  impatient  and  fierce  animal  down  to  the 
river's  brink,  and  through  the  tangled  route  only  known  to  the 
hunter.  The  single  track,  imperfectly  visible  in  the  partial  light, 
impeded  somewhat  his  progress,  so  that  the  moon  was  fairly  visible 
by  the  time  he  reached  the  river.  This  circumstance  was  produc 
tive  of  some  small  inconvenience  to  the  faithful  slave,  since  it 
proved  him  something  of  a  laggard  in  his  duty,  and  at  the  same 
time,  from  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  occasioned  no  little  anxiety  in 
his  mind  for  his  master's  safety.  With  a  few  words,  well  under 
stood  seemingly  by  the  well-trained  animal,  he  cheered  him  on, 
and  pushing  him  to  the  slight  trench  made  by  the  horse's  hoof, 
clearly  defined  upon  the  path,  and  which  had  before  been  shown 
him,  he  thrust  his  nose  gently  down  upon  it,  while  taking  from  his 
head  the  muzzle;  without  which  he  must  have  been  a  dangerous 
neighbor  to  the  Indians,  for  whose  pursuit  he  had  been  originally 
trained  by  the  Spaniards,  in  a  system,  the  policy  of  which  was  still 
in  part  continued,  or  rather,  of  late,  revived,  by  his  present  owner. 

"Now,  go  wick  you,  Dugdale;  be  off,  da's  a  good  dog,  and 
look  out  for  your  maussa.  Dis  he  track  —  hark  —  hark  —  hark,  dog 
—  dis  de  track  ob  he  critter.  Nose  'em,  old  boy  —  nose  'em  well. 
Make  yourself  good  nigger,  for  you  hab  blessed  maussa.  Soon 
you  go  now,  better  for  bote.  Hark  'era,  boy,  hark  'em,  and  hole  'em 
fast." 

The  animal  seemed  to  comprehend  —  looked  intelligently  up  into 
the  face  of  his  keeper,  then  stooping  down,  carefully  drew  a  long 
breath  as  he  scented  the  designated  spot,  coursed  a  few  steps 
quickly  around  it,  and  then,  as  if  perfectly  assured,  sent  forth  a 
long  deep  bay,  and  set  off  on  the  direct  route  with  all  the  fleetness  of 
a  deer. 

"Da  good  dog  dat,  dat  same  Dugdale.  But  he  hab  reason — 
Hector  no  gib  'em  meat  for  not'ing.  Spaniard  no  1'arn  'em  bet- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  347 

ter,  and  dc  Lord  hab  mercy  'pon  dem  Ingin,  eff  IK  once  stick  he 
Leet  in  he  troat.  lie  better  bin  in  de  fire,  for  he  rieber  leff  ofl, 
long  as  he  kin  kick.  II ark — da  good  dog,  dat  same  Dugdale. 
Wonder  way  inaussa  pick  up  da  name  for  'em ;  speck  he  Spanish 
— in  English,  he  bin  Dogdale." 

Thus  soliloquizing,  alter  his  own  fashion,  the  negro  turned  his 
eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  strange  vessel,  lying  about  a  mile  and 
a  half  above  the  bank  upon  which  he  stood,  and  now  gracefully 
outlined  by  the  soft  light  of  the  moon.  She  floated  there,  in  the 
bosom  of  the  stream,  still  and  silent  as  a  sheeted  spectre,  and  to  all 
appearance  with  quite  as  little  life.  Built  after  the  finest  models 
of  her  time,  and  with  a  distinct  regard  to  the  irregular  pursuits  in 
wLich  she  was  engaged,  her  appearance  carried  to  the  mind  an 
idea  of  lightness  and  swiftness  which  was  not  at  variance  with  her 
character.  The  fairy-like  tracery  of  her  slender  masts,  her  spars, 
and  cordage,  harmonized  well  with  the  quiet  water  upon  which  she 
rested  like  some  native  bird,  and  with  the  soft  and  luxuriant  foliage 
covering  the  scenery  around,  just  then  coming  out  from  shadow  into 
tli3  gather)"^  moonbeams. 

While  tne  black  looked,  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  stir  upon  the 
bank  directly  opposite  ;  and,  at  length,  shooting  out  from  the  shel 
ter  of  cane  and  brush  which  thickly  fringed  a  small  lagune  in  that 
direction,  he  distinctly  saw  eight  or  ten  large  double  canoes  making 
for  the  side  of  the  river  upon  which  he  stood.  They  seemed  filled 
with  men,  and  their  paddles  were  moved  with  a  velocity  only  sur 
passed  by  the  silence  which  accompanied  their  use.  The  mischief 
was  now  sufficiently  apparent,  even  to  a  mind  so  obtuse  as  that  of 
the  negro  ;  and,  without  risking  any  thing  by  personal  delay,  but 
now  doubly  aroused  in  anxiety  for  his  master — whose  predictions 
he  saw  were  about  to  be  verified — he  took  his  way  back  to  the 
Block  House  with  a  degree  of  hurry  proportioned  to  what  he  felt 
was  the  urgency  of  the  case.  It  did  not  take  him  long  to  reach 
the  Block  House,  into  which  he  soon  found  entrance,  and  gave  the 
alarm.  Proceeding  to  the  quarter  in  which  the  wife  of  Granger 
kept  her  abode,  he  demanded  from  her  a  knife — all  the  weapon  he 
wanted — while  informing  her,  as  he  had  already  done  those  having 
sharge  of  the  fortress,  of  the  approaching  enemy. 


84:8  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  the  knife,  Hector  ?" 

"  I  want  'era,  missis — da's  all — I  guine  after  maussa." 

"  What !  the  captain  ? — why,  where  is  he,  Hector  ?" 

"  Speck  he  in  berry  much  trouble.  I  must  go  see  a'ter  'em. 
Dugdale  gone  'ready — Dugdale  no  better  sarbant  dan  Hector. 
Gib  me  de  knife,  missis — dat  same  long  one  I  hab  for  cut  he 
meat." 

"  But,  Hector,  you  can  be  of  very  little  good  if  the  Indians  are 
out.  You  don't  know  where  to  look  for  the  captain,  and  you'll 
tread  on  them  as  you  go  through  the  bush." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  missis — I  must  go.  I  hab  hand  and  foot — I 
hab  knife — I  hab  eye  for  see — I  hab  toot  for  bite — I  'trong,  missis, 
and  I  must  go  look  for  maussa.  God  !  missis,  if  any  ting  happen 
to  maussa,  wha  Hector  for  do  ?  where  he  guine — who  be  he  ne^ 
maussa  ?  I  mnst  go,  missis — gib  me  de  knife." 

"  Well,  Hector,  if  you  will  go,  here's  what  you  want.  Here's 
the  knife,  and  here's  your  master's  gun.  You  must  take  tha.t  too,' 
said  the  woman. 

"  No — I  tank  'you  for  not'ing,  missis.  I  no  want  gun  ;  I  'fraid 
ob  'em  ;  he  kin  shoot  all  sides.  I  no  like  'em.  Gi'  me  knife.  1 
use  to  knife — I  kin  scalp  dein  Injin-wid  knife  a'ter  he  own  fashion. 
But  I  no  use  to  gun." 

"  Well,  but  your  master  is  used  to  it.  You  must  carry  it  for 
him.  He  has  no  arms,  and  this  may  save  his  life.  Hold  it  so,  and 
there's  no  danger." 

She  showed  the  timid  Hector  how  to  carry  the  loaded  weapon 
so  as  to  avoid  risk  to  himself,  and,  persuaded  of  its  importance  to 
his  master,  he  ventured  to  take  it  in  his  hands. 

"  Well,  da  'nough — I  no  want  any  more.  I  gone,  missis,  I  gone 
— but  'member — ef  maussa  come  back  and  Hector  loss — 'member, 
I  say,  I  no  runway — 'member  dat.  I  scalp — I  drown — I  dead — 
ebbery  ting  happen  to  me — but  I  no  runway." 

With  these  last  words,  the  faithful  black  started  upon  his  adven 
ture  of  danger,  resolute  and  strong,  in  the  warm  affection  which 
he  bore  his  master,  to  contend  with  every  form  of  difficulty.  He 
left  the  garrison  at  the  Block  House  duly  aroused  to  the  conflict, 
which  they  were  now  satisfied  was  not  far  off. 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

"  Oh  !    wherefore  strike  trie  beautiful,  the  young, 
So  innocent,  unharming  ?     Lift  the  knife, 
If  need  be,  'gainst  the  warrior  ;  but  forbear 
The  trembling  woman  " 

LET  us  now  return  to  the  chamber  of  Bess  Matthews.  She  slept 
not  soundly,  but  unconsciously,  and  heard  not  the  distant  but 
approaching  cry — "  Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah  me  !"  The  war  had 
begun  ;  and  in  the  spirit  and  with  the  words  of  Yemassee  battle, 
•  the  thirst  for  blood- was  universal  among  their  warriors.  From  the 
war-dance,  blessed  by  the  prophet,  stimulated  by  his  exhortations, 
and  warmed  by  the  blood  of  their  human  sacrifice,  they  had  started 
upon  the  war-path  in  every  direction.  The  larger  division,  led  on 
by  Sanutee  and  the  prophet,  took  their  course  directly  for  Chai  les- 
ton,  while  Ishiagaska,  heading  a  smaller  party,  proceeded  to  the 
frontier  settlements  upon  the  Pocota-ligo,  intending  massacre  along 
the  whole  line  of  the  white  borders,  including  the  now  flourishing 
town  of  Beaufort.  From  house  to  house,  with  the  stealth  of  a  cat, 
he  led  his  band  to  indiscriminate  slaughter,  and,  diverging  with  this 
object  from  one  settlement  to  another,  he  contrived  to  reach  every 
dwelling-place  of  the  whites  known  to  him  in  that  neighbourhood. 
But  in  many  places  he  had  been  foiled.  The  providential  arrange 
ments  of  Harrison,  wherever,  in  the  brief  time  allowed  him,  he 
had  found  it  possible,  had  rendered  their  design  in  great  part 
innocuous  throughout  that  section,  and,  duly  angered  with  his  dis 
appointment,  it  was  not  long  before  Ishiagaska  came  to  the  little 
cottage  of  the  pastor.  The  lights  had  been  all  extinguished,  and, 
save  on  the  eastern  side,  the  dwelling  lay  in  the  deepest  shadow. 
The  quiet  of  the  whole  scene  formed  an  admirable  contrast  to  the 
horrors  gathering  in  perspective,  and  about  to  destroy  its  sacred  and 
sweet  repose  for  ever. 

With  the  wonted  caution  of  the   Indian,  Ishiagaska  led  on  hif 


850  THE    YEMASSEE. 

band  in  silence.  No  sound  was  permitted  to  go  odoro  the  assault. 
The  war-whoop,  with  which  they  anticipate  or  accompany  the 
stroke  of  battle,  was  not  suffered,  in  the  present  instance,  to  pre 
pare,  with  a  salutary  terror,  the  minds  of  their  destined  victims. 
Massacre,  not  battle,  was  the  purpose,  and  the  secret  stratagem  of 
the  marauder  usurped  the  fierce  Ijabit  of  the  avowed  warrioi. 
Passing  from  cover  to  cover,  the  wily  savage  at  1  mgth  approached 
the  cottage  with  his  party.  He  stationed  them  around  it,  con 
cealed  each  under  his  tree.  He  alone  advanced  to  the  dwelling 
with  the  stealth  of  a  panther.  Avoiding  the  clear  path  of  the 
moon,  he  availed  himself,  now  of  one  and  now  of  another  shelter 
— the  bush,  the  tree — whatever  might  afford  a  concealing  shadow 
in  his  approach ;  and  where  this  was  wanting,  throwing  himself 
flat  upon  the  ground,  he  crawled  on  like  a  serpent—  now  lying 
snug  and  immoveable,  now  taking  a  new  start  and  hurrying  in  his 
progress,  and  at  last  placing  himself  successfully  alongside  of  the 
little  white  paling  which  fenced  in  the  cottage,  and  ran  at  a  little 
distance  around  it.  He  parted  the  thong  which  secured  the  wicket 
with  his  knife,  a-scended  the  little  avenue,  and  then,  giving  ear  to 
every  quarter  of  the  dwelling,  and  finding  all  still,  proceeded  on 
tiptoe  to  try  the  fastenings  of  every  window.  The  door  he  felt 
was  secure — so  was  each  window  in  the  body  of  the  house,  which 
he  at  length  encompassed,  noting  every  aperture  in  it.  At  length 
he  came  to  the  chamber  where  Bess  Matthews  slept, — a  chamber 
forming  one-half  of  the  little  shed,  or  addition  to  the  main  dwell 
ing — the  other  half  being  occupied  for  the  same  purpose  by  her 
parents.  He  placed  his  hand  gently  upon  the  shutter,  and  with 
savage  joy  he  felt  it  yield  beneath  his  touch. 

The  moment  Ishiagaska  made  this  discovery,  he  silently  retreate. 
to  a  little  distance  from  the  dwelling,  and  with  a  signal  which  hat 
been  agreed  upon — the  single  and  melancholy  note  of  the  whip 
poor-will — he  gave  notice  to  his  band  for  their  approach.  Imitating 
his  previous  caution,  they  came  forward  individually  to  the  ce' 
tage,  and  gathering  around  him,  under  the  shadow  of  a  neigh 
bouring  tree,  they  duly  arranged  the  method  of  surprise. 

This  done,  under  the  guidance  of  Ishiagaska,  they  again  up 
preached  the  dwelling,  and  a  party  having  been  stationed  at  tk 


THE    YEMASSEE.  351 

door  in  silence,  another  party  with  their  leader  returned  to  the  win 
dow  which  was  accessible.  Lifted  quietly  upon  the  shoulders  of 
two  of  them,  Ishiagaska  was  at  once  upon  a  level  with  it.  lie 
had  already  drawn  it  aside,  and,  by  the  light  of  the  moon  which 
streamed  into  the  little  apartment,  he  was  enabled  with  a  single 
glance  to  take  in  its  contents.  The  half-slumbering  girl  felt  con 
scious  of  a  sudden  gusli  of  air — a  rustling  sound,  and  perhaps  a 
darkening  shadow  ;  but  the  obtrusion  was  not  sufficient  to  alarm 
into  action  faculties  which  had  been  so  very  much  excited,  and 
subsequently  depressed,  by  the  severe  mental  trials  to  which  she 
had  been  subjected,  and  which  did  not  cease  to  trouble  her  even 
while  she  slept.  It  was  in  her  exhaustion  only  that  sleep  came  to 
her  relief.  But  even  in  her  dreams  there  floated  images  of  terror ; 
and  vague  aspects  that  troubled  or  threatened,  caused  her  to  moan 
in  her  sleep,  as  at  a  danger  still  to  be  apprehended  or  deplored. 
She  lay  motionless,  however,  and  the  wily  savage  succeeded 
in  gaining  the  floor  of  her  chamber  without  disturbing  the  sleeper. 
Here  he  stood,  §ilent  for  awhile,  surveying  at  his  ease  the  com 
posed  and  beautiful  outline  of  his  victim's  person.  And  she 
was  beautiful — the  ancient  worship  might  well  have  chosen  such  an 
ottering  in  sacrifice  to  his  choice  demon.  Never  did  her  beauty 
show  forth  more  exquisitely  than  now,  when  murder  stood 
nigh,  ready  to  blast  it  for  ever — ready  to  wrest  the  sacred  fin  of 
life  from  the  altar  of  that  heart  which  h<wl  maintained  itself  so 
well  worthy  of  the  heaven  from  whence  it  came.  Ishiagaska  looked 
on,  but  with  no  feeling  inconsistent  with  the  previous  aim  which 
had  brought  him  there.  The  dress  had  fallen  low  from  her  neck, 
and  in  the  meek,  spiritual  light  of  the  moon,  the  soft,  wave- 
like  heave  of  the  scarce  living  principle  within  her  bosom  was 
like  that  of  some  blessed  thing,  susceptible  of  death,  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  strong  in  the  possession  of  the  most  exquisite  develop 
ments  of  life.  Her  long  tresses  hung  about  her  neck,  relieving 
but  not  concealing,  its  snowy  whiteness.  One  arm  fell  over  the 
side  of  the  couch,  nerveless,  but  soft  and  snowy  as  the  frostwreath 
lifted  by  the  capricious  wind.  The  other  lay  pressed  upon  her 
bosom  above  her  heart,  as  if  restraining  those  trying  apprehensions 
which  had  formed  so  large  a  portion  of  her  prayers  when  she  laici 


352  THIC-  YEMASSEE 

icrsef  do\7Q  to  s!?ep.  Ft  w;u  a  pic '.ire  fo  anyoe  bu ,  that  of  the 
savage — a  picture  softding  any  IE  nod  bit  th<.-t  of  the  habitual 
munlarer.  it  worked  no  change  in  the  ferocious  soul  of  Ishiagaska. 
lie  looked,  but  without  emotion.  Nor  was  he  long  disposed  to 
hesitate.  Assisting  another  of  the  Indians  into  the  apartment, 
who  passed  at  once  through  it  into  the  hall  adjoining,  the  door  of 
which  he  was  to  unbar  for  the  rest,  Ishiagaska  now  ,r  pp reached 
the  couch,  and  drawing  his  knife  from  the  sheath,  the  I  road  blade 
was  uplifted,  shining  bright  in  the  moonbeams,  and  the  inflexible 
point  bore  down  upon  that  sweet,  white  round,  in  which  all  was 
loveliness,  and  where  was  all  of  life; — the  fair  bosom,  the  pure 
heart,  where  the  sacred  principles  of  purity  arid  of  vitality  had  at 
once  their  abiding  place.  With  one  hand  he  lifted  aside  the  long 
white  finger  that  lay  upon  it,  and  in  the  next  instant  the  blow 
would  have  descended  fatally,  but  that  the  maiden's  sleep  was  less 
sound  than  it  appeared.  His  footsteps  had  not  disturbed  her,  but 
his  couch  did.  The  pressure  of  his  grasp  brought  instant  con 
sciousness  to  her  sense.  This  may  have  been  assj/eted  also  by  the 
glare  of  the  moon  across  her  eyes ;  the  window,  opened  by  the 
red  man,  remaining  still  wide.  Turning  uneasily  beneath  the 
glare,  she  felt  the  savage  gripe  upon  her  fingers.  It  was  an  instinct, 
swift  as  the  lightning,  that  made  her  grasp  the  uplifted  arm  with  a 
strength  of  despairing  nature,  not  certainly  her  own.  She  started 
with  a  shriek,  and  the  change  of  position  accompanying  her  move 
ment,  arid  the  unlooked-for  direction  and  restraint  given  to  his 
arm,  when,  in  that  nervous  grasp,  she  seized  it,  partially  diverted 
the  down-descending  weapon  of  death.  It  grazed  slightly  aside, 
inflicting  a  wound,  of  which,  at  that  moment,  she  was  perfectly 
unconscious.  Again  she  cried  out  with  a  convulsive  scream,  as  she 
saw  him  transfer  the  knife  from  the  one  to  the  other  hand.  For 
a  few  seconds  her  struggles  were  all-powerful,  and  kept  back,  for 
that  period  of  time,  the  fate  which  had  been  so  certain.  But  what 
could  the  frail  spirit,  the  soft  hand,  the  uuexercised  muscles  avail  or 
achieve  against  such  an  enemy  and  in  such  r.  contest  \  With 
another  scream,  as  of  one  in  a  last  agony,  Consciousness  went  from 
her  in  the  conviction  of  the  perfect  fruitlessness  of  the  contest 
With  a  single  apostrophe — 


THE    YKMASSEE.  353 

"God  be  merciful — oh!  my  father — oh!  Gabriel,  save  me  — 
Gabriel— Ah !  God,  God — he  cannot — "  her  eye  closed,  and  she 
lay  supine  under  the  knife  of  the'  savage. 

But  the  first  scream  which  she  uttered  had  reached  the  ears  of 
her  lather,  who  had  been  more  sleepless  than  herself.  The  scream 
of  his  child  had  been  sufficient  to  give  renewed  activity  and  life  tc 
the  limbs  of  the  aged  pastor.  Starting  from  his  couch,  and  seizing 
upon  a  massive  club  which  stood  in  the  corner  of  his  chamber,  he 
rushed  desperately  into  the  apartment  of  Bess,  and'happily  in  time. 
Hir  own  resistance  had  been  sufficient  to  give  pause  for  this  new 
succour,  and  it  ceased  just  when  the  old  man,  now  made  conscious 
of  the  danger,  cried  aloud  in  the  spirit  of  his  faith,  while  striking 
a  blow  which,  effectually  diverting  Ishiagaska  from  the  maiden, 
compelled  him  to  defend  himself. 

"  Strike  with  me,  Father  of  Mercies,"  cried  the  old  Puritan — 
"strike  with  thy  servant — thou  who  struck  with  David  and  with 
Gideon,  and  who  swept  thy  waters  against  Pharaoh — strike  with 
the  arm  of  thy  poor  instrument.  Make  the  savage  to  bite  the 
dust,  while  I  strike — I  slay  in  thy  name,  Ohl  thou  avenger — even 
in  the  name  of  the  Great  Jehovah  !" 

And  calling  aloud  in  some  such  apostrophe  upon  the  name  of 
the  Deity  at  every  effort  which  he  made  with  his  club,  the  old 
pastor  gained  a  temporary  advantage  over  the  savage,  who,  retreat 
ing  from  his  first  furious  assault  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  couch, 
enabled  him  to  place  himself  alongside  of  his  child.  Without  giv 
ing  himself  a  moment  even  to  her  restoration,  with  a  paroxysm  of 
fury  that  really  seemed  from  heaven,  he  advanced  upon  his  enemy 
— the  club  swinging  over  his  head  with  an  exhibition  of  strength 
that  was  remarkable  in  so  old  a  man.  Ishiagaska,  pressed  thus, 
unwilling  with  his  knife  to  venture  within  its  reach,  had  recourse 
to  his  tomahawk,  which,  hurriedly,  he  threw  at  the  head  of  his  ap 
proaching  assailant.  But  the  aim  was  wide—the  deadly  weapon 
flew  into  the  opposite  wall,  and  the  blow  of  the  club  rang  upon  the 
head  of  the  Indian  with  sufficient  effect,  first  to  stagger,  and  then 
to  bring  him  down.  This  done,  the  old  man  rushed  to  the  window 
where  two  other  savages  were  labouring  to  elevate  a  third  to  tne 
entrance ;  and,  with  another  sweep  of  his  mace,  he  defeated  theii 


354  THE    YEMASSEE. 

design,  by  crushing  down  the  elevated  person  whose  head  and 
hands  w  sre  just  above  the  sill  of  the  window.  In  their  first  ecu- 
fusion,  he  closed  the  shutter,  and  securely  bolted  it,  then  turned, 
with  all  the  aroused  affections  of  a  father,  to  the  restoration  of  his 
child. 

Meanwhile,  the  Indian  who  had  undertaken  to  unclose  the  main 
entrance  for  his  companions,  ignorant  of  the  sleeping  negro  before 
it,  stumbled  over  him.  July,  who,  like  most  negroes  suddenly 
awaking,  was  stupid  and  confused,  rose,  however,  with  a  sort  of 
instinct ;  rubbing  his  eyes  with  the  fingers  of  one  hand,  he  stretched 
out  the  other  to  the  bar,  and,  without  being  at  all  conscious  of  why.t 
he  was  doing,  lifted  it  from  its  socket.  He  was  soon  brought  to  a 
sense  of  his  error,  as  a  troop  of  half-naked  savages  rushed  through 
the  opening,  pushing  him  aside  with  a  degree  of  violence  which  soon 
taught  him  his  danger.  He  knew  now  that  they  were  enemies ; 
and,  with  the  uplifted  bar  still  in  his  hand,  he  felled  the  foremost  of 
those  around  him — who  happened  to  be  the  fellow  who  first 
stumbled  over  him — and  rushed  bravely  enough  among  the  rest. 
But  the  weapon  he  made  use  of  was  an  unwieldy  one,  and  not 
at  all  calculated  for  such  a  contest.  He  was  soon  taught  to  dis- 
3over  this,  fatally,  when  it  swung  uselessly  around,  and  was  put  aside 
by  one  of  the  more  wily  savages,  who,  adroitly  closing  in  with 
the  courageous  negro,  soon  brought  him  to  the  ground.  In  falling, 
however,  he  contrived  to  grapple  with  his  more  powerful  enemy, 
and  the  two  went  down  in  a  close  embrace  together.  But  the  hatchet 
was  in  the  hand  of  the  Indian,  and  a  moment  after  his  fall  it  crushed 
.nto  the  skull  of  the  negro.  Another  and  another  blow  followed,  and 
soon  ended  the  struggle.  While  the  pulse  was  still  quivering  in 
his  heart,  and  ere  his  eyes  had  yet  closed  in  the  swimming  con 
vulsions  of  death,  the  negro  felt  the  sharp  blade  of  the  knife  sweep 
ing  around  his  head.  The  conqueror  was  about  to  complete  his 
triumph  by  taking  off  the  scalp  of  his  victim,  "  as  ye  peel  the  fig 
when  the  fruit  is  fresh,"  when  a  light,  borne  by  the  half-dressed 
wife  of  the  pastor,  appeared  at  the  door.  She  gave  new  terrors, 
by  her  screams,  to  the  scene  of  blood  and  strife  going  on  in 
the  hall,  At  the  same  moment,  followed  by  his  daughter,  who 
vainly  entreated  b'm  to  remain  in  the  chamber,  the  pastor  rushed 


THE  YEMASSEE.  356 

Headlong  forward,  wielding  the  club,  so  successful  already  against 
one  set  of  enemies,  in  contest  with  another. 

"  Go  not,  father — go  not,"  she  cried  earnestly,  now  fully  restor 
ed  to  the  acutest  consciousness,  and  clinging  to  him  passionately 
all  the  while. 

"  Go  not,  John,  I  pray  you — "  implored  the  old  lady,  endea 
vouring  to  arrest  him.  But  his  impulse,  under  all  circumstances 
was  the  wisest  policy,  lie  could  not  hope  for  safety  by  hugging 
nis  chamber,  and  a  bold  struggle  to  the  last — a  fearless  heart, 
ready  hand,  and  teeth  clenched  with  a  fixed  purpose — exhibit  a 
proper  reason  when  dealing  with  the  avowed  enemy.  A  furious 
inspiration  seemed  to  fill  his  heart  as  he  went  forward,  crying 
aloud  — 

"I  fear  not.  The  buckler  of  Jehovah  is  over  his  servant.  I  go 
under  the  bh.^er — I  fight  in  the  service  of  God.  Keep  me  not 
back,  woman — has  he  not  said — shall  I  misbelieve — he  will  pro 
tect  his  servant.  He  will  strike  with  the  shepherd,  and  the  wolf 
shall  be  smitten  from  the  fold.  Avoid  thee,  savage — unloose  thee 
from  thy  prey.  The  sword  of  the  Lord  and  of  Gideon  !" 

Thus  saying,  he  rushed  like  one  inspired  upon  the  savage  whose 
knife  had  already  swept  around  the  head  of  the  negro.  The  scalp 
ing  of  July's  head  was  a  more  difficult  matter  than  the  Indian  had 
dreamed  of,  fighting  in  the  dark.  It  was  only  when  he  laid  hands 
upon  it  that  he  found  the  difficulty  of  taking  a  secure  hold.  There 
was  no  war-tuft  to  seize  upon,  and  the  wool  had  been  recently 
abridged  by  the  judicious  scissors.  He  had,  accordingly,  literally 
to  peel  away  the  scalp  with  the  flesh  itself.  The  pastor  interposed 
just  after  he  had  begun  the  operation. 

"  Avoid  thee,  thou  bloody  Philistine — give  up  thy  prey.  The 
vengeance  of  the  God  of  Jacob  is  upon  thee.  In  his  name  I  strike, 
1  slay.". 

As  he  shouted  he  struck  a  headlong,  a  heavy  blow,  which,  could 
it  have  taken  effect,  would  most  probably  have  been  fatal.  But  the 
pastor  knew  nothing  of  the  arts  of  war,  and  though  on  his  knees 
ever  the  negro,  and  almost  under  the  feet  of  his  new  assailant,  the 
Indian  was  too  "  cunning  of  fence,"  too  well  practised  in  strategy, 
to  be  overcome  in  this  simple  manner.  With  a  single  jerk  which 


856  THE    YEMASSEE. 

completed  his  labour,  he  tore  the  reeking  scalp  from  the  head  of  the 
negro,  and  dropping  his  own  at  the  same  instant  on  a  level  with  the 
floor,  the  stroke  of  the  pastor  went  clean  over  it ;  and  the  assailant 
himself,  borne  forward  incontinently  by  the  ill-advised  etlort,  was 
Hurried  stunningly  against  the  wall  of  the  apartment,  and  in  the 
thick  of  his  enemies.  In  a  moment  they  had  him  down — the  club 
wrested  from  his  hands,  and  exhaustion  necessarily  following  such 
prodigious  and  unaccustomed  efforts  in  so  old  a  man,  he  now  lay 
without  strength  or  struggle  under  the  knives  of  his  captors. 

As  she  beheld  the  condition  of  her  father,  all  fear,  all  stupor, 
passed  away  instantly  from  the  mind  of  Bess  Matthews.  She 
rushed  forward — she  threw  herself  between  the  red  men  and  their 
victim,  and  entreated  their  knives  to  her  heart  rather  than  to  his. 
Clasping  the  legs  of  the  warrior  immediately  bestriding  the  body 
of  the  old  man,  with  all  a  woman's  and  a  daughter's  eloquence  she 
prayed  for  pity.  But  she  spoke  to  unwilling  ears,  and  to  senses 
that,  scorning  any  such  appeals  in  their  own  cases,  looked  upon 
them  with  sovereign  contempt  when  made  by  others.  She  saw 
this  in  the  grim  smile  with  which  he  heard  her  apostrophes.  His 
white  teeth,  gleaming  out  between  the  dusky  lips  which  enclosed 
them,  looked  to  her  fears  like  those  of  the  hungry  tiger,  gnashing 
with  delight  at  the  banquet  of  blood  at  last  spread  before  it. 
While  yet  she  spoke,  his  hand  tore  away  from  her  hair  a  long  and 
glittering  ornament  which  had  confined  it — another  tore  from  her 
neck  the  clustering  necklace  which  could  not  adorn  it ;  and  the 
vain  fancies  of  the  savage  immediately  appropriated  them  as  deco 
rations  for  his  own  person — her  own  head-ornament  being  stuck 
most  fantastically  in  the  long,  single  tuft  of  hair — the  war-tuft,  and 
all  that  is  left  at  that  period — of  him  who  had  seized  it.  She  saw 
how  much  pleasure  the  bauble  imparted,  and  a  new  suggestion  of 
her  thought  gave  her  a  momentary  hope. 

"Spare  him — spare  his  life,  and  thou  shalt  have  more — thou 
shalt  have  beads  and  rings.  Look — look," — and  the  jewelled  ring 
trom  her  finger,  aiid  another,  a  snored  pledge  from  Harrison,  were 
given  into  his  grasp.  He  seized  them  with  avidity. 

"  Good — o'ooel — more  !"  cried  the  ferocious  but  frivolous  savage, 
in  the  few  words  of  broken  English  which  he  imperfectly  uttered 


THE    YEMASSEE.  35 1 

in  reply  to  hers,  and  which  he  well  understood  ;  for  such  had  been 
the  degree  of  intimacy  existing  between  the  Yeinassees  and  the 
settlers,  that  but  few  of  the  former  were  entirely  ignorant  of  some 
portions  of  the  language  of  the  latter.  So  far,  something  had  been 
gained  in  pleasing  her  enemy.  She  rushed  to  the  chamber,  and 
hurried  forth  with  a  little  casket,  containing  a  locket,  and  sundry 
other  trifles  commonly  found  in  a  lady's  cabinet.  Her  mother,  in 
the  meanwhile,  having  arranged  her  dress,  hurriedly  came  forth 
ilso,  provided,  in  like  manner,  with  all  such  jewels  as  seemed  mos;, 
calculated  to  win  the  mercy  which  they  sought.  They  gave  all 
ui^o  his  hands,  and,  possibly,  had  he  been  alone,  these  concessions 
would  have  saved  them,— their  lives  at  least;  for  these-— now  the 
spoils  of  the  individual  sav-9ge  to  whom  they  were  given — had  they 
been  found  in  the  sack  of  the  house,  must  have  been  common 
stock  with  all  of  them.  But  the  rest  of  the  band  were  not  disposed 
for  mercy  when  they  beheld  such  an  appropriation  of  their  plunder, 
ind  while  they  were  p'eading  with  the  savage  for  the  life  of  the 
pastor,  Ishiagaska,  recovered  from  the  blow  which  had  stunned 
aim,  entering  the  apartment,  immediately  changed  the  prospects  of 
ill  the  party.  He  was  inflamed  to  double  ferocity  by  the  stout 
iefence  which  had  been  offered  where  he  had  been  taught  to 
inticipate  so  Vtle ;  and,  with  a  fierce  cry,  seizing  Bess  by  the  long 
hair,  which,  'rom  the  loss  of  her  comb,  now  streamed  over  her 
shoulder\,  V,  waved  the  tomahawk  in  air,  bidding  his  men  follow 
his  example  and  do  execution  upon  the  rest.  Another  savage,  with  the 
word,  seized  upon  the  old  lady.  These  sights  re-aroused  the  pastor. 
With  a  desperate  effort  he  threw  the  knee  of  his  enemy  from  his 
breast,  and  was  about  to  rise,  when  the  stroke  of  a  stick  from  one 
of  th(  captors  descended  stunningly,  but  not  fatally,  and  sent  him 
once  more  to  the  ground. 

"  Father — father  ! — God  of  mercy — look,  mother  !  they  nave 
slain  him — they  have  slain  ray  father !"  and  she  wildly  struggled 
with  her  captor,  but  without  avail.  There  was  but  a -moment  now, 
and  she  saw  the  hatchet  descending.  That  moment  was  for 
prayer,  but  the  terror  was  too  gieat ;  for  as  she  beheld  the  whirling 
arm  and  the  wave  of  the  glittering  steel,  she  closed  hor  eyes,  anc 


358  THE    YEMASSEE. 

insensibility  came  to  her  relief,  while  she  sank  down  under  t;ifc 
feet  of  the  savage — a  simultaneous  movement  of  the  Indians  placing 
both  of  her  parents  at  the  same  moment  in  anticipation  of  the 
fiwl'ii,1  destiny 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

*'  Captives,  at  midnight,  whither  lead  yau  tAea, 
Heedless  of  tears  and  pity,  all  unmoved 
At  their  poor  hearts'  distress  7    Yet,  spare  their  IITM." 

TUB  blow  was  stayed — the  death,  deemed  inevitable,  was  averted — 
the  captives  lived.  The  descending  arm  was  arrested,  the  weapct 
thrown  aside,  and  a  voice  of  authority,  at  the  most  interesting  junc 
ture  in  the  lives  of  the  prisoners,  interposed  for  their  safety.  Thfe 
new  comer  was  Chorley,  the  captain  of  the  pirate,  heading  his  troop 
of  marines,  and  a  small  additional  force  of  Indians.  lie  was  quite 
as  much  rejoiced  as  the  captives,  that  he  came  in  time  for  their  relief. 
It  was  not  his  policy,  in  the  house  of  the  pastor,  to  appear  the  man 
of  blood,  or  to  destroy,  though  mercilessly  destructive  wherever  he 
appeared  before.  There  were  in  the  present  instance  many  reasons 
to  restrain  him.  The  feeling  of  "  auld  lang  syne"  alone  might  have 
had  its  effect  upon  his  mood ;  and,  though  not  sufficiently  potent, 
perhaps,  for  purposes  of  pity  in  a  bosom  otherwise  so  pitiless,  yet, 
strengthened  by  a  passion  for  the  person  of  Bess  Matthews,  it  availed 
happily  to  save  the  little  family  of  the  pastor.  Their  safety,  indeed, 
had  been  his  object ;  and  he  had  hurried  towards  their  dwelling  with 
the  first  signal  of  war,  as  he  well  knew  the  dangers  to  which  they 
would  be  exposed,  should  he  not  arrive  in  season,  from  the  indiscri 
minate  fury  of  the  savages.  P»ut  the  circuitous  route  which  he  had 
been  compelled  to  take,  together  with  the  difficulties  of  the  forest  to 
sailors,  to  whom  a  march  through  the  tangled  woods  was  something 
unusual,  left  him  considerably  behind  the  party  led  on  by  Ishiagaska. 
Arriving  in  time  to  save,  however,  Chorley  was  not  displeased  that 
he  had  been  delayed  so  long.  There  was  a  merit  in  his  appearance 
at  a  moment  so  perilous,  which  promised  him  advantages  he  had  not 
contemplated  before.  He  could  now  urge  a  claim  to  the  gratitude 
of  the  maiden,  for  her  own  and  the  safety  of  her  parents,  upon  wnuJi 
he  built  strongly  his  desire  to  secure  her  person,  if  rot  her  .heart. 


360  THE    YEMASSEE. 

This,  at  least,  under  all  circumstances,  lie  luid  certainly  determined 
upon. 

lie  came  at  the  last  moment,  but  he  came  in  time.  lie  was  well 
fitted  for  such  a  moment,  for  he  was  bold  and  decisive.  With  mus 
cles  of  iron  he  grasped  the  arm  of  the  savage,  and  thrust  him  back 
from  his  more  delicate  victim,  while,  with  a  voice  of  thunder,  sus 
tained  admirably  by  the  close  proximity  of  the  muskets  borne  by  the 
marines,  he  commanded  the  savages  to  yield  their  prisoners.  A 
spear-thrust  from  one  of  his  men  enforced  the  command,  which  was 
otherwise  disregarded  in  the  case  of  the  Indian  bestriding  Mr.  Mat 
thews,  and  the  old  pastor  stood  once  more  erect.  But  Ishiagaska, 
the  first  surprise  being  over,  was  not  so  disposed  to  yield  his  cap 
tives. 

"Will  the  white  brother  take  the  scalps  from  Ishiagaska?  Where 
was  the  white  brother  when  Ishiagaska  was  here  ?  He  was  on  the 
blind  path  in  the  woods — I  heard  him  cry  like  the  lost  child  for  the 
vsrouts  of  Ishiagaska.  It  was  Ishiagaska  who  crept  into  the  wigwam 
of  the  white  prophet — look !  The  white  prophet  can  strike — the 
mark  of  his  club  is  on  the  head  of  a  great  chief — but  not  to  slay. 
Ishiagaska  has  won  the  English — they  are  the  slaves  of  the  Yernas- 
see — he  can  take  their  scalps — he  can  drink  their  blood — he  can 
tear  out  their  hearts!" 

"  I'll  be  d — d  if  he  does,  though,  while  I  am  here.  Fear  not, 
Matthews,  old  boy — and  you,  my  beauty  bird — have  no  fear.  You 
are  all  safe — he  takes  my  life  before  he  puts  hands  on  you,  by  San 
tiago,  as  the  Spaniards  swear.  Hark  ye,  Ishiagaska — do  you  under 
stand  what  I  say  ?" 

"  The  Yemassee  has  ears  for  his  brother — let  him  speak,"  replied 
the  chief,  sullenly. 

"That  means  that  you  understand  me,  I  suppose — though  it 
doesn't  say  so  exactly.  Well,  then — listen.  I'll  take  care  of  these 
prisoners,  and  account  for  them  to  the  Governor  of  Saint  Augustine." 

"  The  white  prophet  and  the  women  are  for  Ishiagaska.  Let  our 
brother  take  his  own  scalps.  Ishiagaska  strikes  not  for  the  Spaniard 
— he  is  a  warrior  of  Yemassee." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  account  to  your  people  for  them,  but  they  ir* 
my  prisoners  now." 


THE    YEMASSEE.  361 

44 Is  not  Isliiagaska  a  chief  of  the  Yeinassee — shall  the  stranger 
speak  for  him  to  his  people?  Our  white  brother  is  like  a  cunnirg 
bird  that  is  lazy.  He  looks  out  from  the  tree  all  day,  and  when 
the  other  bird  catches  the  green  fly,  he  steals  it  out  of  his  teeth. 
Ishiagaska  catches  no  fly  for  the  teeth  of  the  stranger." 

"  Well,  as  you  please ;  but,  by  G — d,  you  may  give  them  up 
civilly  or  not !  They  are  mine  now,  and  you  may  better  yourself  as 
you  can." 

The  brow  of  the  Indian,  stormy  enough  before,  put  on  new  terrors, 
and  without  a  word  he  rushed  fiercely  at  the  throat  of  the  sailor, 
driving  forward  one  hand  for  that  purpose,  while  the  other  aimed  a 
blow  at  his  head  with  his  hatchet.  But  the  sailor  was  sufficiently 
familiar  with  Indian  warfare,  as  well  as  with  most  other  kinds ;  lie 
was  good  at  all  weapons,  as  we  may  suppose,  and  was  not  unpiv- 
pared.  He  seemed  to  have  anticipated  resistance  to  his  authority, 
and  was  ready  for  the  assault.  His  promptness  in  defence  was  quit-j 
equal  to  the  suddenness  of  the  attack  of  Ishiagaska.  Adroitk 
evading  the  direct  assault,  he  bore  back  the  erring  weapon  with  a 
stroke  that  sent  it  wide  from  the  owner's  hand,  and  grasping  him  bv 
the  throat,  waved  him  to  and  fro  as  an  infant  in  the  grasp  of  a  giant. 
The  folio wers  of  the  chief,  not  discouraged  by  this  evidence  of  supe 
riority,  or  Dy  the  greater  number  of  seamen  with  their  white  ally, 
rushed  forward  to  his  rescue,  and  the  probability  is  that  the  affair 
would  have  been  one  of  mixed  massacre  but  for  the  coolness  of 
Chorley. 

"  Men — each  his  man  !  Short  work,  as  I  order.  Drop  muskets, 
u.nd  close  handsomely." 

The  order  was  obeyed  with  promptitude,  and  the  Indians  were 
belted  in,  as  by  a  hoop  of  iron,  without  room  to  lift  a  hatcL^  01 
brandish  a  knife,  while  each  of  the  whites  had  singled  out  an  enemy, 
at  whose  breast  a  pistol  was  presented.  The  sailor  captain  m  the 
meanwhile  appropriated  Ishiagaska  to  himself,  and  closely  encircled 
him  with  one  powerful  arm,  while  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol  rested 
upon  the  Indian's  head.  But  the  affair  was  suffered  to  proceed  no 
further,  in  this  way,  by  him  who  had  now  tne  chief  management. 
Tht  Indians  were  awed,  and  though  they  still  held  out  a  sul.en  atti 
tude  of  defiance,  Chorley,  whose  desire  was  that  control  of  the 

16 


862  THE   YEMASSEE. 

savages  without  which  he  could  hope  to  do  nothing,  was  satisfied  of 
die  adequacy  of  what  he  had  done  towards  his  object.  Releasing 
his  own  captive,  therefore,  with  a  stentorian  laugh,  he  addressed 
Uliiagaska: — 

"  That's  the  way,  chief,  to  deal  with  the  enemy.  But  we  are  no 
enemies  of  yours,  and  have  had  fun  enough." 

"  It  is  fun  for  our  white  brother,"  was  the  stern  and  dry  response. 

"  Ay,  what  else — devilish  good  fun,  I  say — though,  to  be  sure, 
you  did  not  seem  to  think  so.  But  I  suppose  I  am  to  have  the 
prisoners." 

"  If  our  brother  asks  with  his  tongue,  we  say  no — if  he  asks 
with  his  teeth,  we  say  yes." 

"  Well,  I  care  not,  d — n  my  splinters,  Ishy — whether  you  an 
swer  to  tongue  or  teeth,  so  that  you  answer  as  I  want  you.  I'm 
glad  now  that  you  speak  what  is  reasonable." 

"  Will  our  brother  take  the  white  prophet  and  the  women,  and 
g-ive  nothing  to  the  Yemassee  ?  The  English  buy  from  the  Yemas 
see,  and  the  Yemassee  gets  when  he  gives." 

"  Ay,  I  see — you  have  learned  to  trade,  and  know  how  to  drive 
a  bargain.  But  you  forget,  chief,  you  have  had  all  in  the  house." 

"Good — and  the  prisoners — they  are  scalps  for  Ishiagaska.  But 
our  brother  would  have  them  for  himself,  and  will  give  his  small 
gun  for  them." 

The  offer  to  exchange  the  captives  for  the  pistol  in  his  hand, 
caused  a  momentary  hesitation  in  the  mind  of  the  pirate.  Be  saw 
the  lurking  malignity  in  the  eye  of  the  savage,  and  gazed  fixedly 
upon  him,  then,  suddenly  seeming  to  determine,  he  exclaimed, — 

"  Well,  it's  a  bargain.  The  captives  are  mine,  and  here's  the 
pistol." 

Scarcely  had  the  weapon  been  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  wily 
savage,  than  he  hastily  thrust  it  at  the  head  of  the  pirate,  and 
crying  aloud  to  his  followers,  who  echoed  it  lustily,  "Sangarrah-me 
— Yemassee,"  he  drew  the  triages.  A  loud  laugh  from  Chorley 
was  all  the  response  that  followed.  lie  had  seen  enough  of  the 
Indian  character  to  have  anticipated  the  result  of  the  exchange  just 
made,  and  gave  him  a  pistol  therefore  which  had  a  little  before 
been  discharged.  The  innocuous  effort  upon  his  life,  accordingly, 


THE     YEMASSEE.  363 

had  been  looked  for ;  and  having  made  it,  the  Indian,  whose  prido 
of  character  had  been  deeply  mortified  by  the  indignity  to  which 
the  sport  of  Choi-ley  had  just  subjected  him,  folded  his  arras  pa 
tiently  as  it'  in  waiting  for  his  death.  This  must  nave  followed 
but  for  ihe  ready  and  contemptuous  laugh  of  the  pirate ;  for 
his  seamen,  provoked  to  fury  by  the  attempt,  would  otherwise  un 
doubtedly  have  cut  them  all  in  pieces.  The  ready  laugh,  however 
— so  unlooked-for — so  seemingly  out  of  place — kept  them  still ; 
and,  as  much  surprised  as  the  Indians,  they  remained  as  stationary 
also.  A  slap  upon  the  shoulder  from  the  heavy  hand  of  the  sea 
man  aroused  Ishiagaska  with  a  start. 

"How  now,  my  red  brother — didst  thou  think  I  could  be  killed 
by  such  as  thee  ?  Go  to — thou  art  a  child — a  little  boy.  The 
shot  can't  touch  me — the  sword  can't  cut — the  knife  can't  stick — 
T  have  a  charm  from  the  prophet  of  the  Spaniards.  I  bought  it 
and  a  good  wind,  with  a  link  of  this  blessed  chain,  and  have  had 
no  reason  to  repent  my  bargain.  Those  are  the  priests,  friend  Mat 
thews — now  you  don't  pretend  to  such  a  trade.  What  good  can 
your  preaching  do  to  sailors  or  soldiers,  when  we  can  get  such 
bargains  for  so  little  ?" 

The  pastor,  employed  hitherto  in  sustaining  the  form  of  his  still 
but  half-conscious  daughter,  had  been  a  silent  spectator  of  this 
strange  scene.  But  he  now,  finding  as  long  as  it  lasted  that  the 
nerves  of  Bess  would  continue  unstrung,  seized  the  opportunity 
afforded  by  this  appeal,  to  implore  that  they  might  be  relieved  of 
their  savage  company. 

"  What,  and  you  continue  here  ?"  replied  the  sailor.  "  JSTo,  no 
— that's  impossible.  They  would  murder  you  the  moment  I  am 
gone." 

"  What  then  are  we  to  do — where  go — where  find  safety  ?" 

"You  must  go  with  me — with  my  party  alone  will  you  be  safe, 
and  while  on  shore  you  must  remain  with  us.  After  that,  my 
vessel  will  give  you  shelter." 

u  Never — never — dear  father,  tell  him  no— better  that  we  should 
die  by  the  savage,"  was  the  whispered  and  hurried  language  of  Bess 
to  her  father  as  she  heard  this  suggestion.  A  portion  of  her  speech, 
only,  was  audible  to  the  seaman. 


564  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  What's  that  you  say,  ray  sweet  bird  of  beauty — my  bird  of 
paradise  ? — Speak  out,  there  is  no  danger." 

"  She  only  speaks  to  me,  captain,"  said  the  pastor,  unwilling  that 
the  only  protector  they  now  had  should  be  offended  by  an  indis 
creet  remark. 

"  Oh,  father,  that  you  had  listened  to  Gabriel,"  murmured  the 
maiden,  as  she  beheld  the  preparations  making  for  their  departure 
with  the  soldiers. 

"  Reproach  me  not  now,  my  child — my  heart  is  sore  enough  for 
that  error  of  my  spirit.  It  was  a  wicked  pride  that  kept  me  from 
hearing  and  doing  justice  to  that  friendly  youth." 

The  kind  word,  in  reference  to  her  lover,  almost  banished  all 
present  fears  from  the  mind  of  Bess  Matthews  ;  and  with  tears 
that  now  relieved  her,  and  which  before  this  she  could  not  have 
shed,  she  buried  her  head  in  the  bosom  of  the  old  man. 

"•  We  are  friends  again,  Ishiagaska,"  extending  his  hand  while 
he  spoke,  was  the  address  of  the  seaman  to  the  chief,  as  the  latter 
took  his  departure  from  the  dwelling  on  his  way  to  the  Block 
House.  The  proffered  hand  was  scornfully  rejected. 

"  Is  Ishiagaska  a  dog  that  shall  come  when  you  whistle,  and  put 
Vs  tail  between  his  legs  when  you  storm  ?  The  white  chief  has 
put  mud  on  the  head  of  Ishiagaska." 

"  Well,  go  and  be  d d,  who  cares  ?  By  G — d,  but  for  the 

bargain,  and  that  the  fellow  may  be  useful,  I  could  send  a  bullet 
through  his  red  skin  with  appetite." 

A  few  words  now  addressed  to  his  captives,  sufficed  to  instruct 
them  as  to  the  necessity  of  a  present  movement;  and  a  few  mo 
ments  put  them  in  as  great  a  state  of  readiness  for  their  departure 
as,  under  such  circumstances,  they  could  be  expected  to  make. 
The  sailor,  in  the  meantime,  gave  due  directions  to  his  followers ; 
arid,  picking  up  the  pistol  which  the  indignant  Ishiagaska  had 
thrown  away,  he  contented  himself,  while  reloading  it,  with  another 
boisterous  laugh  at  the  expense  of  the  savage.  Giving  the  neces 
sary  orders  to  his  men,  he  approached  the  group,  and  tendered  his 
assistance,  especially  to  Bess  Matthews.  But  she  shrank  back  with 
an  appearance  of  horror,  not  surely  justifiable,  if  reference  is  to  be 
had  only  to  his  agency  on  the  present  occasion.  But  the  instinc" 


THE   YEMASSEE.  365 

tive  delicacy  of  maidenly  feeling  had  been  more  than  once  out 
raged  in  her  bosom  by  the  bold,  licentious  glance  which  Chorley 
had  so  frequently  cast  upon  her  charms  ;  and  now,  heightened  as 
they  were  by  circumstances — by  the  dishevelled  hair,  and  ill- 
adjusted  garments — the  daring  look  of  his  eye  was  enough  to 
offend  a  spirit  so  delicately  just,  so  sensitive,  and  so  susceptible  as 
hers. 

"  What,  too  much  of  a  lady — too  proud,  miss,  to  take  the  arm 
of  a  sailor  ?  Is  it  so,  parson  ?  llave  you  taught  so  much  pride 
to  your  daughter  ?" 

"  It  is  riot  pride,  Master  Chorley,  you  should  know — but  Bess 
has  not  well  got  over  her  fright,  and  it's  but  natural  that  she 
should  look  to  her  father  first  for  protection.  It's  not  pride,  not 
dislike,  believe  me,"  was  the  anxiously-spoken  reply. 

"  But  there's  no  sense  in  that  now — for  what  sort  of  protection 
could  you  have  afforded  her  if  I  hadn't  come  ?  You'd  ha'  been 
all  scalped  to  deith,  or  there's  no  fish  in  the  sea  !" 

"  You  say  true,  indeed,  Master  Chorley.  Our  only  hope  was 
in  God,  who  is  above  all, — to  him  we  look — he  will  always  find  a 
protector  for  the  innocent." 

"  And  not  much  from  him  either,  friend  Matthews — for  ail  your 
prayers  would  have  done  you  little  good  under  the  knife  of  the  red 
skins,  if  I  had  riot  come  at  the  very  moment." 

"  True — and  you  see,  captain,  that  God  did  send  us  help  at  the 
last  trying  moment." 

"  Why,  that's  more  than  my  mother  ever  said  for  me,  parson — 
and  more  than  I  can  ever  say  for  myself.  What,  Dick  Chorley 
the  messenger  of  God! — Ha!  ha!  ha! — The  old  folks  would  say 
the  devil  rather,  whose  messenger  I  Jiave  been  from  stem  to  stern, 
man  and  boy,  a  matter  now — but  it's  quite  too  far  to  go  back." 

"  Do  not,  I  pray,  Master  Chorley,"  said  the  old  man,  gravely — 
"  and  know,  that  Satan  himself  is  God's  messenger,  and  must  do 
his  bidding  in  spite  of  his  own  will." 

"  The  dense,  you  say.  Old  Nick,  himself,  God's  messenger ! 
Well,  that's  new  to  me,  and  what  the  Catechism  and  old  Meg 
never  once  taught  me  to  believe.  But  I  won't  doubt  you,  for,  as  it's 
your  trade,  you  ought  to  know  best,  and  we'll  have  no  more  talk 


866  THE    YEMASSEE. 

on  the  nub)-  et,  Conie,  old  boy — my  good  Mrs.  Matthews,  and 
you,  my  swe^t — all  ready  ?  Fall  in,  boys — be  moving." 

"  Where  f  o  we  now,  Master  Chorley  ?"  inquired  the  pastor. 

"  With  MO,  friend  Matthe-vs,"  was  the  simple  and  rather  stern 
reply  of  the  pirate,  who  arranged  his  troop  around  the  little  party, 
and  gave  orders  to  move.  lie  would  have  taken  his  place  along 
side  of  the  maiden,  but  sbe  studiously  passed  to  the  opposite  arm  of 
her  father,  so  as  to  throw  the  pastor's  person  between  them.  In 
this  manner  the  party  moved  on,  in  the  direction  of  the  Block 
House,  which  the  cupidity  of  Chorley  hoped  to  find  unguarded,  and 
to  which  he  hurried,  with  as  much  rapidity  as  possible,  in  order  to 
be  present  at  the  sack.  He  felt  that  it  must  be  full  of  the  valua 
bles  of  all  those  who  had  sought  its  shelter,  and  with  this  desire  he 
did  not  scruple  to  compel  the  captives  to  keep  pace  with  his  party, 
as  it  was  necessary,  before  proceeding  to  the  assault,  that  he 
should  place  them  in  a  condition  of  comparative  safety.  A  small 
cottage  lay  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  a  few  miles  from  his  vessel, 
and  in  sight  of  it.  It  was  a  rude  frame  of  poles,  covered  with  pine 
bark  ;  such  as  the  Indian  hunters  leave  behind  them  all  over  the 
country.  To  this  spot  he  hurried,  and  there,  under  the  charge  of 
three  marines,  well  armed,  he  left  the  jaded  family,  dreading  every 
change  of  condition  as  full  of  death,  if  not  of  other  terrors  even 
worse  than  death — and  with  scarcely  a  smaller  apprehension  of 
that  condition  itself.  Having  so  done,  he  went  onward  to  the 
work  of  destruction,  where  we  shall  again  come  up  with  him. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

•'  U  all  prepared — all  ready — for  they  come, 
I  hear  them  in  that  strange  cry  through  the  wood." 

THE  inmates  of  the  Block  House,  as  we  remember,  had  been 
warned  by  Hector  of  the  probable  approach  of  danger,  and  prepa 
ration  was  the  word  in  consequence.  But  what  was  the  prepara 
tion  meant  ?  Under  no  distinct  command,  every  one  had  his  own 
favourite  idea  of  defence,  and  all  was  confusion  in  their  councils 
The  absence  of  Harrison,  to  whose  direction  all  parties  would  most 
willingly  have  turned  their  ears,  was  now  of  the  most  injurious 
tendency,  as  it  left  them  unprovided  with  any  head,  and  just  at 
the  moment  when  a  high  degree  of  excitement  prevailed  against 
the  choice  of  any  substitute.  Great  bustle  and  little  ex<^uiion 
took  the  place  of  good  order,  calm  opinion,  deliberate  ana  decided 
action.  The  men  were  ready  enough  to  fight,  and  this  readiness  was 
an  evil  of  itself,  circumstanced  as  they  were.  To  fight  would  have 
oeen  madness  then — to  protract  the  issuo  and  gain  time  was  the 
object ;  and  few,  among  the  defenders  of  the  fortress,  at  that  mo 
ment,  were  sufficiently  collected  to,  see  this  truth.  In  reason,  there 
was  really  but  a  single  spirit  iii  the  Block  House,  sufficiently  deli 
berate  for  the  occasion.  ThjjU  spirit  was  a  woman's — the  wife  of 
Granger.  She  had  been  tjhe  child  of  poverty  and  privation — the 
severe  school  of  that  best  tutor,  necessity,  had  made  her  equable 
in  mind  and  intrepid  rj,  spirit.  She  had  looked  suffering  so  long 
in  the  face,  that  she  11Ow  regarded  it  without  a  tear.  Her  parents 
had  never  been  known  to  her,  and  the  most  trying  difficulties  clung 
to  her  from  infancy  up  to  womanhood.  So  exercised,  her  mind 
grew  strong  in  proportion  to  its  trials,  and  she  had  learned,  in  the 
end,  to  regard  them  with  a  degree  of  fearlessness  far  beyond  the 
capacities  of  any  well-bred  heir  of  prosperity  and  favouring  fortune, 
The  same  tr  iafe  attended  her  after  marriage — siuce  the  pursuits  of 


368  THE    YEMASSEE. 

her  husband  carried  her  into  dangers,  to  which  even  he  could  oppose 
far  less  ability  than  his  wife.  Iler  genius  soared  infinitely  beyond 
his  own,  and  to  her  teachings  was  he  indebted  for  many  of  those 
successes  which  brought  him  wealth  in  after  years.  She  counsel 
led  his  enterprises,  prompted  or  persuaded  his  proceedings,  managed 
for  him  wisely  and  economically  ;  in  all  respects,  proved  herself  un 
selfish  ;  and,  if  she  did  not  at  any  time  appear  above  the  way  of 
life  they  had  adopted,  she  took  caie  to  maintain  both  of  them  from 
falling  beneath  it — a  result  too  often  following  the  exclusive  pursuit 
of  gain.  Her  experience  throughout  life,  hitherto,  served  her  ad 
mirably  now,  when  all  was  confusion  among  the  councils  of  the 
men.  She  descended  to  the  court  below,  where  they  made  a  show 
of  deliberation,  and,  in  her  own  manner,  with  a  just  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  proceeded  to  give  her  aid  in  their  general  progress. 
Knowing  that  any  direct  suggestion  from  a  woman,  and  under 
circumstances  of  strife  and  trial,  would  necessarily  offend  the 
amour  propre  of  the  nobler  animal,  and  provoke  his  derision,  she 
pursued  a  sort  of  management  which  an  experienced  woman  is 
usually  found  to  employ  as  a  kind  of  familiar — a  wily  little  demon, 
that  goes  unseen  at  her  bidding,  and  does  her  business,  like  another 
Ariel,  tile  world  nil  the  while  knowing  nothing  about  it.  Calling 
out  from  the  crowd  one  of  those  whom  she  knew  to  be  not  only  the 
most  collected,  but  the  otje  least  annoyed  by  any  unnecessary  self- 
esteem,  she  was  in  a  moment-  joined  by  Wat  Grayson,  and  leading 
him  aside,  she  proceeded  to  surest  various  measures  of  prepara 
tion  and  defence,  certainly  the  m,^t  prudent  that  had  yet  been 
made.  This  she  did  with  so  much  unobtrusive  modesty,  that  the 
worthy  woodman  took  it  for  granted,  i?U  the  while,  that  the  ideas 
were  properly  his  own.  She  concluded  with  insisting  upon  his 
taking  the  command. 

"But  Nichols  will  have  it  all  to  himself.  That's  one  of  our  dif 
ficulties  now." 

"  What  of  that  1    You  may  easily  manage  him,  Master  Grayson." 

"  IJovv  ?"  he  asked. 

Vl  The  greater  number  of  the  men  here  are  oJ  the  *  Green 
Jackets  T  " 

«  Yes—" 


THE     YEMASSEE.  369 

u  And  you  are  their  lieutenant — next  in  command  ti  Capta 
Harrison,  and  their  first  officer  in  his  absence  ?" 

u  That's  true." 

"  Command  them   as  your  troop  exclusively,  and  don't  mir 
the  rest." 

"  But  they  will  be  offended." 

"  And  if  they  are,  Master  Grayson,  is  this  a  time  to  heed  theii 
folly  when  the  enemy's  upon  us  ?  Let  them.  You  do  with  yoiu 
troop  without  heed  to  them,  and  they  will  fall  into  your  ranks — 
they  will  work  with  you  when  the  time  comes." 

u  You  are  right,"  was  the  reply  ;  and  immediately  going  forward 
with  a  voice  of  authority,  Grayson,  calling  only  the  "Green 
Jackets"  around  him,  proceeded  to  organize  them,  and  put  himself 
in  command,  as  first  lieutenant  of  the  only  volunteer  corps  which 
the  parish  knew.  The  corps  received  the  annunciation  with  a 
shout,  and  the  majority  readily  recognized  him.  Nichols,  alone, 
grumbled  a  little,  but  the  minority  was  too  small  to  offer  any 
obstruction  to  Grayson's  authority,  so  that  he  soon  submitted  with 
the  rest.  The  command,  all  circumstances  considered,  was  not 
improperly  given.  Grayson,  though  not  overwise,  was  decisive  ;.r. 
action ;  and,  in  matters  of  strife,  wisdom  itself  must  be  subservient 
to  resolution.  Resolution  in  trial  is  wisdom.  The  new  commander 
numbered  his  force,  placed  the  feeble  and  the  young  in  the  least 
trying  situations,  assigned  different  bodies  to  different  stations,  ami 
sent  the  women  and  children  into  the  upper  and  most  sheltered 
apartment.  In  a  few  moments,  things  were  arranged  for  tho 
approaching  conflict  with  tolerable  precision. 

The  force  thus  commanded  by  Grayson  was  small  enough  ;  the 
whole  number  of  men  in  the  Block  House  not  exceeding  twenty- 
five.  The  women  and  children  within  its  shelter  were  probably 
twice  that  number.  The  population  had  been  assembled  in  great 
part  from  the  entire  extent  of  country  lying  between  the  Block 
House  and  the  Indian  settlements.  From  the  Block  House 
downward  to  Port  Royal  Island,  there  had  been  no  gathering  tc 
this  point ;  the  settlers  in  that  section,  necessarily,  in  the  event  o 
a  like  difficulty,  seeking  a  retreat  to  the  fort  on  the  island,  which 
had  its  garrison  already,  and  was  more  secure,  and  in  another 


370  THE    TEA  ASSEE. 

respect  much  moie  safe,  as  it  lay  more  contiguous  to  the  sea. 
The  greater  portion  of  the  country  immediately  endangered  from 
the  Yemassees,  had  been  duly  warned,  and  none  but  the  slow,  the 
indifferent,  and  the  obstinate,  but  had  taken  sufficient  heed  of  the 
many  warnings  given  them,  and  put  themselves  in  safety.  Num 
bers,  however,  coming  under  one  or  other  of  these  classes,  had 
fallen  victims  to  their  follv  or  temerity  in  the  sudden  onslaught 
which  followed  the  first  movement  of  the  savages  among  them, 
who,  scattering  themselves  over  the  country,  had  made  thei. 
attach  so  nearly  at  the  same  time,  as  to  defeat  any  thing  like  unity 
of  a(tion  in  the  resistance  which  might  have  been  offered  them. 

Giayson's  first  care  in  his  new  command  was  to  get  the  women 
and  children  fairly  out  of  the  way.  The  close  upper  apartment  of 
the  7)lock  House  had  been  especially  assigned  them  ;  and  there 
they  had  assembled  generally.  But  some  few  of  the  old  ladies 
were  not  to  be  shut  up ;  and  his  own  good  Puritan  mother  gave 
the  busy  commandant  no  little  trouble.  She  went  to  and  fro, 
interfering  in  this,  preventing  that,  and  altogether  annoying  the 
men  to  such  a  degree,  that  it  became  absolutely  necessary  to  .put 
on  a  show  of  sternness  which,  in  a  moment  of  less  real  danger  and 
anxiety,  would  have  been  studiously  forborne.  With  some 
difficulty  and  the  assistance  of  Granger's  wife,  he  at  length  got  her 
out  of  the  way,  and  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  all  parties,  she 
worried  herself  to  sleep  in  the  midst  of  a  Psalm,  which  she  croned 
over  to  the  dreariest  tune  in  her  whole  collection.  Sleep  had  also 
fortunately  seized  upon  the  children  generally,  and  but  few,  in  the 
room  assigned  to  the  women,  were  able  to  withstand  the  approaches 
of  that  subtle  magician.  The  wife  of  the  trader,  almost  alone, 
continued  watchful ;  thoughtful  in  emergency,  and  'with  a  ready 
degree  of  common  sense,  to  contend  with  trial,  and  to  prepare 
against  it.  The  confused  cluster  of  sleeping  forms,  in  all  positions, 
and  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  that  hour,  in  the  apartment  so  occupied/ 
was  grotesque  enough.  One  figure  alone,  sitting  in  the  midst,  and 
musing  with  a  concentrated  mind,  gave  dignity  to  the  ludicrous 
grouping — the  majestic  figure  of  Mary  Granger — her  dark  eye 
fixed  upon  the  silent  and  sleeping  collection,  in  doubt  and  pity — 
her  black  hair  bound  closely  upon  her  head,  and  her  broad  fore- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  871 

head  seeming  to  enlarge  and  grow  with  the  busy  thought  at  work 
within  it.  Her  hand,  too — strange  association — rested  upon  a 
hatchet. 

Having  completed  his  arrangements  with  respect  to  the  security 
of  the  women  and  children,  and  put  them  fairly  out  of  his  way, 
Grayson  proceeded  to  call  a  sort  of  council  of  war  for  further 
deliberation;  and  having  put  sentinels  along  the  picket,  and  at 
different  points  of  the  building,  the  more  "  sage,  grave  men"  of  the 
garrison  proceeded  to  their  further  arrangements.  These  were 
four  in  number.  One  of  them  was  Dick  Grimstead,  the  blacksmith, 
who,  in  addition  to  a  little  farming  (carried  on  when  the  humour 
took  him)  did  the  horse-shoeing  and  ironwork  for  his  neighbours  of 
ten  miles  round,  and  was  in  no  small  repute  among  them.  He 
was  something  of  a  woodman  too ;  and  hunting,  and  perhaps 
drinking,  occupied  no  small  portion  of  the  time  which  might,  with 
more  profit  to  himself,  have  been  given  to  his  farm  and  smithy. 
Nichols,  the  rival  leader  of  Grayson,  was  also  chosen,  with  the 
view  rather  to  his  pacification  than  with  any  hope  of  good  counsel 
to  be  got  out  of  him.  Granger,  the  trader,  made  the  third ;  and 
presiding  somewhat  as  chairman,  Grayson  the  fourth.  We  may 
add  that  the  wife  of  the  trader,  who  had  descended  to  the  lower 
apartment  in  the  meantime,  and  had  contrived  to  busy  himself  in 
one  corner  with  some  of  the  wares  of  her  husband,  was  present 
throughout  the  debate.  We  may  add,  too,  that,  at  frequent 
periods  of  the  deliberation,  Granger  found  it  necessary  to  leave  the 
consultations  of  the  council  for  that  of  his  wife. 

tt  What  are  we  to  do  ?"  was  the  general  question. 

''  Let  us  send  out  a  spy,  and  see  what  they  are  about,"  was  the 
speech  of  one. 

"  Let  us  discharge  a  few  pieces,  to  let  them  know  that  a  free 
people  are  always  ready  for  the  enemy,*  was  the  sage  advice  of 
Nichols,  who,  though  a  doctor,  was  a  demagogue  also ;  the  breed 
being  known  at  a  very  early  day  in  our  history. 

"  No,  d — n  'em,"  said  the  burly  blacksmith,  "  don't  waste,  after 
that  fashion,  the  powder  for  which  a  buck  would  say  thank  you. 
If  we  are  to  shoot,  let's  put  it  to  the  red-skins  themselves.  What 
do  you  say,  Master  Grayson  ?" 


372  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  I  say,  keep  quiet,  and  make  ready." 

*f  Wouldn't  a  spy  be  of  service  ?"  suggested  Granger,  with  great 
humility,  recurring  to  his  first  proposition. 

"  Will  you  go  ?"  was,  the  blunt  speech  of  the  blacksmith.  "  I 
don't  see  any  good  a  spy  can  do  us." 

"  To  see  into  their  force." 

"  That  won't  strengthen  ours.  No !  I  hold,  Wat  Grayson,  to 
my  mind.  We  must  give  the  dogs  powder  and  shot  when  we 
see  'em.  There's  no  other  way — for  here  we  are,  and  there  they 
are.  They're  for  fight,  and  will  have  our  scalps,  if  we  are  not  for 
fight  too.  We  can't  run,  for  there's  no  place  to  go  to  ;  and 
besides  that,  I'm  not  used  to  running,  and  won't  try  to  run  from 
a  red-skin.  He  shall  chaw  my  bullet  first." 

"  To  be  sure,"  roared  Nichols,  growing  remarkably  valorous. 
u  Battle,  say  I.  Victory  or  death." 

u  Well,  Nichols,  don't  waste  your  breath  now — you  may  want 
it" before  all's  over — "  growled  the  smith,  with  a  most  imperturbable 
composure  of  countenance, — "  if  it's  only  to  beg  quarter." 

"  1  b<  g  quarter — never  !"  cried  the  doctor,  fiercely. 

"  It's  agreed,  then,  that  we  are  to  fight — is  that  what  we  are  to 
understand  ?"  inquired  Grayson,  desirous  to  bring  the  debate  to  a 
close,  and  to  hush  the  little  acerbities  going  on  between  the  doctor 
and  the  smith. 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure — what  else  ?"  said  Grimstead. 

"  What  say  you,  Granger  ?" 

"  I  say  so  too,  sir — if  they  attack  us — surely." 

"Arid  you,  Nichols?" 

"  Ay,  fight,  I  say.  Battle  to  the  last  drop  of  blood— to  the  last 
moment  of  existence.  Victory  or  death  !  that's  my  word." 

"  Blast  me,  Nichols — what  a  bellows,"  shouted  the  smith. 

"Mind  your  own  bellows,  Grimstead — it  will  be  the  better  for 
you.  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  meddle  with  mine — you  may  burn 
vour  fingers,"  retorted  the  demagogue,  angrily. 

"Why,  yes,  if  your  breath  holds  hot  long  enough,"  was  the 
sneering  response  of  the  smith,  who  seemed  to  enjoy  the  sport  of 
teasing  his  windy  comrade. 

"Gome,  come,  men,  no  7,rords,"  soothingly  said  the  commander 


THE    YEMASSEE.  378 

"  Let  us  look  to  the  enemy.  You  are  all  agreed  that  we  are  to 
fight ;  and,  to  say  truth,  we  didn't  want  much  thinking  for  that ; 
but  how,  is  the  question — how  are  we  to  do  the  fighting  ?  Can 
we  send  out  a  party  for  scouts — can  we  spare  the  men  ?" 

"I  think  not,"  said  the  smith,  soberly.  "It  will  require  all  the 
men  we  have,  and  some  of  the  women  too,  to  keep  watch  at  all 
the  loop-holes.  Besides,  we  have  not  arms  enough,  have  we  ?" 

"Not  muskets,  but  other  arms  in  abundance.  What  say  you, 
Nichols — can  we  send  ou .  scouts  ?" 

"  Impossible  !  we  cannot  spare  them,  and  it  will  only  expose 
them  to  be  cut  up  by  a  superior  enemy.  No,  sir,  it  will  be  the 
nobler  spectacle  to  perish,  like  men,  breast  to  breast.  I,  for  one, 
am  *willing  to  die  for  the  people.  I  will  not  survive  my  country." 

"Brave  man!"  cried  the  smith — "but  I'm  riot  willing  to  die  at 
ajl,  and  therefore  I  would  keep  snug  and  stand  'em  here.  I  can't 
skulk  in  the  bush,  like  Granger ;  I'm  quite  too  fat  for  that. 
Though,  I'm  sure,  if  I  were  such  a  skeleton  sort  of  fellow  as 
Nichols  there,  I'd  volunteer  as  a  scout,  and  stand  the  Indian  arrows 
all  day." 

"  I  won't  volunteer,"  cried  Nichols,  hastily.  "  It  will  set  a  bad 
example,  and  my  absence  might  be  fatal." 

"  But  what  if  all  volunteer  ?"  inquired  the  smith,  scornfully. 

u  I  stand  or  fall  with  the  people,"  responded  the  demagogue, 
proudly.  At  that  moment,  a  shrill  scream  of  the  whip-poor-will 
smote  upon  the  senses  of  the  council. 

"  It  is  the  Indians — that  is  a  favourite  cry  of  the  Yemassees," 
said  the  wife  of  Granger.  .  The  company  started  to  their  feet,  and 
seized  their  weapons.  As  they  were  about  to  descend  to  the  lower 
story,  the  woman  seized  upon  the  arm  of  Grayson,  and  craved  his 
attendance  in  the  adjoining  apartment.  He  followed  ;  and  leading 
him  to  the  only  window  in  the  room,  without  disturbing  any 
around  her,  she  pointed  out  a  fallen  pine-tree,  evidently  thrown 
down  within  the  night,  which  barely  rested  upon  the  side  ot  the 
log  house,  with  all  its  branches,  and  but  a  few  feet  below  the 
aperture  through  which  they  looked.  The  tree  must  have  been 
cut  previously,  and  so  contrived  as  to  fall  gradually  upon  the 
dwelling.  It  was  a  small  one,  and  by  resting  in  its  descent  upOD 


374  THE    YEMASSEE. 

other  intervening  trees,  its  approach  and  contact  with  the  dwelling 
had  been  unheard.  This  had  probably  taken  place  while  the 
garrison  had  been  squabbling  below,  with  all  the  women  and 
children  listening  and  looking  on.  The  apartment  in  which  they 
stood,  and  against  which  the  tree  now  depended,  had  been  made, 
for  greater  security,  without  any  loop-holes,  the  musketry  being 
calculated  for  use  in  that  adjoining  and  below.  The  danger  arising 
from  this  new  situation  was  perceptible  at  a  glance. 

"  The  window  must  be  defended.  Two  stout  men  will  answer. 
Hut  they  must  have  muskets,"  spoke  the  woman. 

"  They  shall  have  them,1'  said  Grayson,  in  reply  to  the  fearless 
and  thoughtful  person  who  spoke.  "  I  will  send  Mason  and  your 
husband." 

"Do — I  will  keep  it  till  they  come." 

"  You  ?"  with  some  surprise,  inquired  Grayson. 

"•  Yes,  Master  Grayson — is  there  anything  strange  in  that  ?  1 
have  no  fears.  Go — send  your  men." 

"  But  you  will  close  the  shutter." 

"  No — better,  if  they  should  come — better  it  should  be  open. 
If  shut,  we  might  be  too  apt  to  rest  satisfied.  Exposure  compels 
watchfulness,  and  men  make  the  best  fortresses." 

Full  of  his  new  command,  and  sufficiently  impressed  with  its 
importance,  Grayson  descended  to  the  arrangement  of  his  forces ; 
and,  true  to  his  promise,  despatched  Granger  and  Mason  witn 
muskets  to  the  defence  of  the  window,  as  had  been  agreed  upon 
with  the  wife  of  the  trader.  They  prepared  to  go  up  ;  but,  to  their 
great  consternation,  Mason,  who  was  a  bulky  man,  had  scarcely 
reached  midway  up  the  ladder  leading  to  the  apartment,  when, 
snapping  oft"  in  the  middle,  down  it  came  ;  in  its  destruction, 
breaking  oft'  all  communication  between  the  upper  and  lower 
stories  of  the  house  until  it  could  be  repaired.  To  furnish  a 
substitute  was  a  difficult  task,  about  which  several  of  the  men  were 
set  immediately.  This  accident  deeply  impressed  the  wife  of  the 
trader,  even  more  than  it  did  the  defenders  of  the  house  below, 
with  the  dangers  of  their  situation  ;  and,  in  much  anxiety,  watchful 
and  sad,  she  paced  the  room  in  which  they  were  now  virtually 
Confined,  in  momentary  expectation  of  the  enemy. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

Tne  deep  woods  saw  tneir  battle,  and  the  night 
Gave  it  a  genial  horror.     Blood js  there , 
The  path  of  battle  is  traced  out  in  blood.' 

HUGH  GRAYSON,  with  all  his  faults,  and  they  were  many,  was 
in  reality  a  noble  fellow.  Full  of  a  high  ambition — a  craving  for 
the  unknown  and  the  vast,  which  spread  itself  vaguely  and  perhaps 
unattainably  before  his  imagination — his  disappointments  very  natu 
rally  vexed  him  somewhat  beyond  prudence,  and  now  and  then 
beyond  the  restraint  of  right  reason.  He  usually  came  to  a  know 
ledge  of  his  error  before  it  had  led  too  far,  and  his  repentance  then 
was  not  less  ready  than  his  wrong.  So  in  the  present  instance. 
The  stern  severity  of  those  rebukes  which  had  fallen  from  the  lips 
of  Bess  Matthews,  had  the  effect  upon  him  which  she  had  antici  • 
pated.  They  brought  out  the  serious  determination  of  his  manhood, 
and,  with  due  effort,  he  discarded  those  feeble  and  querulous  fancies 
which  had  been  productive  of  so  much  annoyance  to  her  and 
others,  and  so  much  unhappiness  to  himself.  lie  strove  to  forget 
the  feelings  of  the  jealous  and  disappointed  lover,  in  the  lately 
recollected  duties  of  the  man  and  citizen. 

With  the  good  steed  of  Harrison,  which,  in  the  present  service, 
he  did  not  scruple  to  employ,  he  set  off  on  the  lower  route,  in  order 
to  beat  up  recruits  for  the  perilous  strife  which  he  now  began  to 
believe,  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  was  in  reality  at  hand.  The 
foresters  were  ready  ;  for  one  condition  of  security  in  border  life  was 
the  willingness  to  volunteer  in  defence  of  one  another ;  and  a  five 
mile  ride  gave  him  as  many  followers.  But  his  farther  progress 
was  stopped  short  by  an  unlooked-for  circumstance.  The  tread  of 
a  body  of  horse  reached  the  ears  of  his  party,  and  they  slunk  into 
cover.  Indistinctly,  in  the  imperfect  light,  they  discovered  » 
mounted  force  of  twenty  or  thirty  men.  Another  survey  made 
them  'out  to  be  friends. 


376  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  cried  the  leader,  as  Grayson  emerged  frorr 
the  bush. 

"  Friends — well  met.     Tliere  is  still  time,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  hope  so — I  have  pushed  for  it,"  said  the  commander,  "  as  soor 
as  Sir  Edmund  gave  the  orders." 

"  Ha  !  you  were  advised  then  of  this,  and  come  from  " 

"Beaufort,"  cried  the  officer,  "with  a  detachment  of  twenty  eighl 
for  the  upper  Block  House.  ~  Is  all  well  there  ?" 

"  Ay,  when  I  left,  but  things  are  thought  to  look  squally,  and  1 
have  just  been  beating  up  volunteers  for  preparation." 

"  'Tis  well — fall  in,  gentlemen,  and  good  speed — but  this  cursed 
road  is  continually  throwing  me  out.  Will  you  undertake  to  guide 
us,  so  that  no  time  may  be  -lost  ?" 

"  Ay — follow — we  are  now  seven  miles  from  the  Block,  and  T  am 
as  familiar  with  the  road,  dark  and  light,  as  with  my  own  hands." 

"  Away  then,  men — away" — and,  led  by  the  younger  Grayson, 
now  fully  aroused  by  the  spirit  of  the  scene,  they  hurried  away  at 
full  speed  through  the  narrow  trace  leading  to  the  Block  Hoiibe. 
They  had  ridden  something  like  two-thirds  of  the  distance,  when 
a  distant  shot,  then  a  shout,  reached  their  ears,  and  compelled  a 
pause  for  counsel,  in  order  to  avoid  rushing  into  ambuscade. 

"  A  mile  farther,"  cried  Grayson —  "  a  mile  farther,  and  we  must 
hide  our  horses  in  the  woods,  and  :ake  the  bush  on  foot.  Horse 
won't  do  here;  we  shall  make  too  gc  ad  a  mark ;  and  besides,  riding 
ourselves,  we  should  not  be  able  to  hear  the  approach  of  an 
enemy." 

A  few  moments  after  and  they  descended,  each  fastening  his 
horse  to  a  tree  in  the  shelter  of  a  little  bay ;  and  hurriedly  organiz 
ing  under  Grayson's  direction,  they  proceeded,  alive  with  expecta 
tion,  in  the  direction  of  the  fray. 

It  is  high  time  that  we  now  return  to  our  fugitive,  whose  escape 
from  his  Indian  prison  has  already  been  recorded.  Paddling  his 
canoe  with  difficulty,  Harrison  drew  a  long  breath  as  it  struck  the 
opposite  bank  in  safety.  He  had  escaped  one  danger,  but  how 
many  more,  equally  serious,  had  he  not  reason  to  anticipate  in  his 
farther  progress.  He  knew  too  well  the  character  of  Indian  war 
fare,  and  the  mode  of  assault  proposed  by  them  at  present,  not  to 


THE   YEMASSEE.  377 

feel  that  all  the  woods  around  him  were  alive  with  his  enemies ; 
that,  they  ran  along  in  the  shadow  of  the  thicket,  and  lay  in  wait 
ing,  for  the  steps  of  the  flyer,  alongside  of  the  fallen  tree.  He 
knew  his  danger,  but  he  had  a  soul  well  calculated  for  its  trials. 

lie  leapt  ashore,  and,  at  the  very  first  step  which  he  took,  a  bright 
column  of  tlame  rose  above  the  forests  in  the  direction  of  the 
Graysons'  cottage.  It  lay  not  directly  in  his  path,  but  it  reminded 
him  of  his  duties,  and  he  came  to  all  the  full  decision  marking  his 
character,  as  he  pushed  forward  in  that  quarter.  He  was  not 
long  in  reaching  it,  and  the  prospect  realized  many  of  his  fears. 
The  Indians  had  left  their  traces,  and  the  dwelling  was  wrapped  in 
flame,  illuminating  with  a  deep  glare  the  surrounding  foliage.  He 
looked  for  other  signs  of  their  progress,  but  in  vain.  There  was  no 
blood,  no  mark  of  struggle,  and  his  conclusion  was,  therefore,  that 
the  family  had  been  able  to  effect  its  escape  from  the  dwelling  be 
fore  the  arrival  of  the  enemy.  This  conviction  was  instantaneous, 
and  he  gave  no  idle  time  in  surveying  a  scene  which  was  only  full 
of  a  terrible  warning.  The  thought  of  the  whole  frontier,  and  more 
than  all,  to  his  heart,  the  thought  of  Bess  Matthews,  and  of  the  ob 
stinate  old  father,  drove  him  onward — the  blazing  ruins  lighting  his 
way  some  distance  through  the  woods.  The  rush  of  the  wind,  as 
ne  went  forward,  brought  to  his  ears,  at  each  moment,  and  in 
various  quarters,  the  whoops  of  the  savages,  reduced  to  faintriess  by 
distance  or  cross  currents  of  the  breeze,  that  came  here  and  there, 
through  dense  clusters  of  foliage.  Now  on  one  side  and  now  on 
the  other,  the  sounds  smote  his  ears,  compelling  him  capriciouslv 
to  veer  from  point  to  point  in  the  hope  of  avoiding  the  danger, 
lie  had  not  gone  far  when  a  second  and  sudden  volume  of  fire 
rushed  up  above  the  trees  only  a  little  distance  from  him  on  the 
left,  and  he  could  hear  the  crackling  of  the  timber.  Almost  at  the 
same  instant,  in  an  opposite  direction,  another  burst  of  flame  at 
tested  the  mode  of  warfare  adopted  by  the  cunning  savages,  who 
breaking  into  small  parties  of  five  or  six  in  number,  thas  dispersed 
themselves  over  the  country,  making  their  attacks  simultaneous. 
This  was  the  mode  of  assault  best  adapted  to  their  enterprise ;  and, 
but  for  the  precautions  taken  in  warning  the  more  remote  of  the 
borderers  to  the  protection  of  the  IJlock  House,  their  irruption 


378  THF    YEMASSEE. 

throughout  its  whole  progress,  would  have  been  marked  in  blood, 
But  few  of  the  settlers  could  possibly  have  escaped  their  knives 
Defrauded,  however,  of  their  prey,  the  Indians  were  thus  compel 
led  to  wreak  their  fury  upon  the  unoccupied  dwellings. 

Dreading  to  make  new  and  more  painful  discoveries,  but  with  a 
spirit  nerved  fov  any  event,  Harrison  kept  on  his  course  with  tin- 
relaxing  effort,  till  he  came  to  the  dwelling  of  an  old  German,  an 
honest  but  poor  settler,  named  Van  Ilolten.  The  old  man  lay  on 
his  threshold  insensible.  His  face  was  prone  to  the  ground,  and 
he  was  partially  stripped  of  his  clothing.  Harrison  turned  h:'m 
over,  and  discovered  a  deep  wound  upon  his  breast,  made  seem 
ingly  with  a  knife — a  hatchet  stroke  appeared  upon  his  forehead, 
and  the  scalp  was  gone — a  red  and  dreadfully  lacerated  skull  pre 
sented  itself  to  his  sight,  and  marked  another  of  those  features  of 
war  so  terribly  peculiar  to  the  American  border  struggles.  The 
man  was  quite  dead;  but  the  brand  thrown  into  his  cabin  had 
failed,  and  the  dwelling  was  unhurt  by  the  fire.  Harrison  could 
bestow  no  time  in  mere  regrets  and  sympathies,  out  hurried  away, 
under  increased  anxieties,  and  roused  to  new  exertions  and  efforts 
by  a  spectacle  that  made  him  tremble  momently  with  the  fear  of 
new  discoveries  of  the  same  sort.  The  cries  of  the  savages  grew 
more  distinct  as  he  proceeded,  and  his  caution  was  necessarily  re 
doubled.  They  now  gathered  between*  him  and  the  white  settle 
ments,  and  the  probability  of  coining  upon  his  enemies  was  increased 
at  every  step  in  his  progress.  Apart  from  this,  he  knew  but  little 
of  their  precise  position — now  they  were  on  one,  and  now  on  the 
other  side  of  him — their  whoops  sounding,  with  the  multiplied 
echoes  of  the  wood,  in  every  direction,  and  inspiring  a  hesitating 
dread,  at  every  moment,  that  he  should  find  himself  suddenly 
among  them.  The  anxiety  thus  stimulated  was  more  decidedly 
painful  than  would  have  been  the  hand-to-hand  encounter.  It  was 
so  to  the  fearless  heart  of  Harrison.  Still,  however,  he  kept  his 
way,  until,  at  length,  emerging  from  the  brush  and  foliage,  a  small 
lake  lay  before  him,  which  he  knew  to  be  not  more  than  three 
miles  from  the  dwelling  of  Bess  Matthews.  He  immediately  pre 
pared  to  take  the  path  he  had  usually  pursued,  to  the  left,  which 
carried  him  upon  the  banks  of  the  river.  At  that  moment  his  eye 


THE    YEMASSEE.  379 

caught  the  motion  of  a  small  body  of  the  savages  in  that  very 
quarter.  One  third  of  the  whole  circuit  of  the  lake  .Viy  between 
them  and  himself,  and  he  now  changed  his  course  to  the  right,  in 
the  hope  to  avoid  them.  But  they  had  been  no  less  watchful  than 
himself.  They  had  seen,  and  prepared  to  intercept  him.  They 
divided  for  this  purpose,  and  while,  with  shouts  and  fierce  halloo-, 
one  party  retraced  their  steps  and  came  directly  after  him,  another,  in 
perfect  silence,  advanced  on  their  course  to  the  opposite  quarter  of 
the  lake,  in  the  hope  to  waylay  him  in  front.  Of  this  arrangement 
Harrison  was  perfectly  unaware,  and  upon  this  he  did  not  calculate. 
Having  the  start  considerably  of  those  who  came  behind,  he  did 
net  feel  so  deeply  the  risk  of  his  situation ;  but,  fearless  and  swift 
of  foot,  he  cheerily  went  forward,  hoping  to  fall  in  with  some  of  the 
whites,  or  at  least  to  shelter  himself  in  a  close  cover  of  the  woods 
before  the  red  men  could  possibly  come  up  with  him.  Through 
brake  and  bush,  heath  and  water,  lie  went  forward,  now  running, 
now  walking,  as  the  cries  behind  him  of  his  pursuers  influenced 
his  feelings.  At  length  the  circuit  of  the  lake  was  made,  and  he 
dashed  again  into  the  deeper  forest,  more  secure,  as  he  was  less 
obvious  to  the  sight  than  when  in  the  glare  of  the  now  high  as 
cending  moon.  The  woods  thickened  into  copse  around  him,  and 
he  began  to  feel  something  more  of  hope.  He  could  hear  more 
distinctly  the  cries  of  war,  and  he  now  fancied  that  many  of  the 
shouts  that  met  his  ears  were  those  of  the  English.  In  this  thought 
he  plunged  forward,  and  as  one  fierce  halloo  went  up  which  he 
clearly  felt  to  be  from  his  friends,  he  could  not  avoid  the  impulse 
which  prompted  him  to  shout  forth  in  response.  At  that  moment, 
bounding  over  a  fallen  tree,  he  felt  his  course  arrested.  His  feet 
were  caught  by  one  who  lay  hid  beside  it,  and  he  came  heavily  to 
the  ground.  The  Indian  who  had  lain  in  ambush  was  soon  above 
him,  and  he  had  but  time  to  ward  with  one  arm  a  blow  aimed  al 
his  head,  when  another  savage  advanced  upon  him.  These  two 
formed  the  detachment  which  had  been  sent  forward  in  front,  for 
this  very  purpose,  by  the  party  in  his  rear.  The  prospect  was  des 
perate,  and  feeling  it  so,  the  efforts  of  Harrison  were  herculean. 
His  only  weapon  was  the  knife  of  Matiwan,  but  he  was  a  man  cf 
great  muscular  power  and  exceedingly  active.  Ilia  faculties 


380  THE    YEMASSEE. 

availed  him  now.  With  a  sudden  evolution,  he  shook  one  of  his 
assailants  from  his  breast,  and  opposed  himself  to  the  other  while 
recovering  his  feet.  They  drove  against  him  with  their  united 
force,  and  one  hatchet  grazed  his  cheek.  The  savage  who  threw 
it  was  borne  forward  by  the  blow,  and  received  the  knife  of  Har 
rison  in  his  side,  but  not  sufficiently  deep  to  disable  him.  They 
came  to  it  again  with  renewed  and  increased  ferocity,  one  assailing 
him  from  behind,  while  the  other  employed  him  in  front.  He 
would  have  gained  a  tree,  but  they  watched  and  kept  him  too  busily 
exercised  to  allow  of  his  design.  A  blow  from  a  club  for  a  mo 
ment  paralysed  his  arm,  and  he  dropped  his  knife.  Stooping  to 
recover  it  they  pressed  him  to  the  ground,  and  so  distributed  them 
selves  upon  him,  that  further  effort  was  unavailing.  He  saw  the 
uplifted  hand,  and  felt  that  his  senses  swam  with  delirious  thought 
— his  eyes  were  hazy,  and  he  muttered  a  confused  language.  At 
that  moment — did  he  dream  or  not? — it  was  the  deep  bay  of  his 
own  favorite  hound  that  reached  his  ears.  The  assailants  heard  it 
too — he  felt  assured  of  that,  as,  half  starting  from  their  hold  upon 
him,  they  looked  anxiously  around.  Another  moment,  and  he  had 
no  farther  doubt;  the  cry  of  thirst  and  anger — the  mixed  moan 
and  roar  of  the  well-known  and  evidently  much-aroused  animal, 
was  closely  at  hand.  One  of  the  Indians  sprang  immediately  to 
his  feet — the  other  was  about  to  strike,  wh?n,  with  a  last  effort,  he 
grasped  the  uplifted  arm  and  shouted  "  Dugdale  !"  aloud.  Nor  did 
he  shout  in  vain.  The  favorite,  with  a  howl  of  delight,  bounded 
at  the  well-known  voice,  and  in  another  instant  Harrison  felt  the 
long  hair  and  thick  body  pass  directly  over  his  face,  then  a  single 
deep  cry  rang  above  him,  and  then  he  felt  the  struggle.  He  now 
strove  again  to  take  part  in  the  fray,  though  one  arm  hung  nerve 
lessly  beside  him.  He  partially  succeeded, in  freeing  himself  from 
the  mass  that  had  weighed  him  down;  and  looking  up,  saw  the 
entire  mouth  and  chin  of  the  Indian  in  the  jaws  of  the  ferocious 
hound.  The  savage  knew  his  deadliest  enemy,  and  his  struggle 
was,  not  to  destroy  the  dog,  but,  under  the  sudden  panic,  to  free 
himself  from  his  hold.  With  this  object  his  hatchet  and  knife  had 
been  dropped.  His  hands  were  vainly  endeavouring  to  loosen  the 
huge,  steely  jaws  of  his  rough  assailant  from  his  own.  The  othei 


THE    YEMASSEK.  881 

Indian  had  fled  with  the  first  bay  of  the  animal — probably  the 
more  willing  to  do  so,  as  the  momentary  fainting  of  Harrison  had 
led  them  to  suppose  him  beyond  further  opposition.  But  he  re 
covered  ;  and,  with  recovering  consciousness,  resuming  the  firm 
grasp  of  his  knife  which  had  fallen  beside  him,  seconded  the  efforts 
of  Dugdale  by  driving  it  into  the  breast  of  their  remaining  enemy, 
who  fell  dead,  with  his  chin  still  between  the  teeth  of  the  hound. 
Staggering  as  much  with  the  excitement  of  such  a  conflict,  as  with 
the  blow  he  had  received,  Harrison  with  difficulty  regained  his 
feet.  Dugdale  held  on  to  his  prey,  and  before  he  would  forego  his 
hold,  completely  cut  the  throat  which  he  had  taken  in  his  teeth. 
A  single  embrace  of  his  master  attested  the  deep  gratitude  which 
he  felt  for  the  good  service  of  his  favorite. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  delay.  The  division  which  pursued 
him  was  at  hand.  He  heard  their  shout  from  a  neighbouring  copse, 
and  he  bent  his  steps  forward.  The  red  men  were  soon  apprised  of 
his  movement.  Joined  by  the  fugitive,  and  having  heard  his  details, 
what  was  their  surprise  to  find  their  own  warrior  a  victim,  bloody  ani 
perfectly  dead  upon  the  grass,  where  they  had  looked  to  have  taken 
a  scalp !  Their  rage  knew  no  bounds,  and  they  were  ROW  doubly 
earnest  in  pursuit.  Feeble  from  the  late  struggle,  Harrison  did  not 
possess  his  previous  vigour — besides,  he  had  run  far  through  the 
woods,  and  though  as  hardy  as  any  of  the  Indians,  he  was  not  su 
well  calculated  to  endure  a  race  of  this  nature.  But,  though  they 
gained  on  him,  he  knew  that  he  had  a  faithful  ally  at  hand  on  whom 
he  felt  that  he  might  safely  depend.  The  hound,  trained  as  was  the 
custom,  was  formidable  to  the  fears  of  the  Indians.  Like  the  ele 
phant  of  old  among  the  Asiatics,  he  inspired  a  degree  of  terror 
among  the  American  aborigines,  which,  in  great  degree,  deprived 
them  of  courage  and  conduct ;  and,  had  there  been  less  inequality 
of  force,  the  dog  of  Harrison  alone  would  Lvjve  been  sufficient  to 
have  decided  his  present  pursuers  to  choose  a  more  guarded  course, 
if  not  to  a  complete  discontinuance  of  pursuit.  But  they  heard  the 
shouts  of  their  own  warriors  all  around  them,  and  trusting  that 
flying  from  one,  the  White  Chief,  the  famous  Coosah-moray-tee, 
must  necessarily  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  other  party,  they  were 
stimulated  stiil  farther  in  the  chase. 


382  THE    YEMASSEE. 

They  had  not  miscalculated.  The  wild  whoop  of  war — the 
"  Sar,garrah-me,  Yemassee"  rose  directly  in  the  path  of  Harrison, 
and,  wearied  with  flight,  the  fugitive  prepared  himself  for  the  worst. 
He  leaned  against  a  tree  in  exhaustion,  while  the  dog  took  his  place 
beside  him,  obedient  to  his  master's  command,  though  impatient  to 
bound  forward.  Harrison  kept  him  for  a  more  concentrated  struggle, 
and  wreathing  his  hands  in  the  thick  collar  about  his  neck,  he  held 
him  back  for  individual  assailants.  In  the  meantime  his  pursuers 
approached,  though  with  caution.  His  dog  was  concealed  by  the 
brush,  on  the  skirts  of  which  he  had  studiously  placed  him.  They 
heard  at  intervals  his  long,  deep  bay,  and  it  had  an  efi'ect  upon  them 
not  unlike  that  of  their  own  war-whoop  upon  the  whites.  They 
paused,  as  if  in  council.  Just  then,  their  party  in  front  set  up 
another  shout,  and  the  confusion  of  a  skirmish  was  evident  to  th« 
senses  as  well  of  Harrison  as  of  his  pursuers.  This  to  him  was  a 
favourable  sign.  It  indicated  the  presence  of  friends.  He  heard 
at  length  one  shot,  then  another,  and  another,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  huzzas  of  t.he  Carolinians.  These  inspired  him  with  new  cou 
rage  ;  and,  with  an  impulse  which  is  sometimes,  and,  in  desperate 
cases,  may  be  almost  always  considered  wisdom,  he  plunged  forward 
through  the  brush  which  separated  him  from  the  unseen  comba 
tants,  loudly  cheering  in  the  English  manner,  and  prompting  the 
hound  to  set  up  a  succession  of  cries,  sufficiently  imposing  to  inspire 
panic  in  the  savages, 

His  movement  was  the  signal  to  move  also  on  the  part  of  those 
who  pursued  him.  But  a  few  steps  changed  entirely  the  scene.  He 
had  rushed  upon  the  rear  of  a  band  of  the  Yemassees,  who,  lying 
behind  brush  and  logs,  were  skirmishing  at  advantage  with  a  corps 
of  foresters  which  we  have  seen  led  on  by  the  younger  Grayson.  A 
single  glance  sufficed  to  put  Harrison  in  possession  of  the  true  facts 
of  the  case,  and,  though  hazarding  every  chance  of  life,  he  bounded 
directly  among,  and  through,  the  ambushed  Indians.  Never  was 
desperation  more  fortunate  in  its  consequences.  Not  knowing  the 
cause  of  such  a  movement,  the  Yemassees  conceived  themselves 
beset  front  and  rear.  They  rose  screaming  from  their  hiding  places, 
and  yielded  on  each  side  of  the  fugitive.  With  an  unhesitating 
hand  he  struck  with  his  knife  one  of  their  chiefs  who  stood  in  his 


THE    YEMASSEE.  386 

path.  The  hound  leaping  among  them  like  a  hungry  panther, 
farther  stimulated  the  panic,  and  for  a  moment  they  scattered  about 
bewildered,  and  with  a  wholly  purposeless  action.  The  fierce  and 
forward  advance  of  that  portion  of  their  own  allies  who  had  been 
pursuing  Harrison,  still  further  contributed  to  impress  them  with 
the  idea  of  an  enemy  in  the  rear ;  and,  before  they  could  recover, 
so  as  to  arrest  his  progress  and  discover  the  true  state  of  things,  IK> 
had  passed  them,  followed  by  the  obedient  dog.  In  another  instant 
almost  fainting  with  fatigue,  to  the  astonishment  but  satisfaction  of 
all,  he  threw  himself,  with  a  laugh  of  mingled  triumph  arid  exhaus 
tion,  into  the  ranks  of  his  sturdy  band  of  foresters. 

Without  a  pause  he  commanded  their  attention.  Fully  conscious 
of  the  confusion  among  the  ambushers,  he  ordered  an  advance,  and 
charged  resolutely  through  the  brush.  The  contest  was  now  hand 
to  hand,  and  the  foresters  took  their  tree  when  necessary,  as  well  as 
their  enemies.  The  presence  ol  their  captain  gave  them  new  cou 
rage,  arid  the  desperate  manner  in  which  he  had  charged  through 
the  party  with  which  they  fought,  led  them  to  despise  their  foes. 
This  feeling  imparted  to  the  Carolinians  a  degree  of  recklessness, 
which,  new  to  them  in  such  warfare,  was  not  less  new  to  the  Indians. 
Half  frightened  before,  they  needed  but  such  an  attack  to  determine 
them  to  retreat.  They  faltered,  and  at  length  fled — a  few  fought  on 
awhile,  single  handed,  perhaps  not  knowing  how  completely  their 
force  was  scattered  ;  but  wounded  and  without  encouragement,  they 
too  gave  way,  sullenly  and  slowly,  and  at  length  were  brought  up 
with  their  less  resolute  companions  in  the  cover  of  a  neighbouring 
and  denser  wood. 

Harrison  did  not  think  it  advisable  to  pursue  them.  Calling  off 
his  men,  therefore,  he  led  them  on  the  route  towards  the  Block 
House,  which  he  relied  upon  as  the  chief  rallying  point  of  the 
settlers  in  that  quarter.  His  anxieties,  however,  at  that  moment, 
had  in  them  something  selfish,  and  he  proceeded  hurriedly  to  the 
house  of  old  Matthews.  It  was  empty — its  inmates  were  gone,  and 
the  marks  of  savage  devastation  were  all  around  them.  The  build 
ing  had  been  plundered,  and  a  hasty  attempt  made  to  burn  it  by 
torches,  but  without  success,  the  floors  being  only  slightly  scorched. 
He  rushed  through  the  apartments  in  despair,  calling  the  family  by 


S84  TUE    YEMASSL1L 

name.  What  lia^  been  their  fate — and  where  was  she  ?  The 
silence  of  everything  around  spoke  to  him  too  loudly,  and,  with  the 
faintest  possible  hope  that  they  had  been  sufficiently  apprised  of  the 
approach  of  the  Indians  to  have  taken  the  shelter  of  the  Block 
House,  he  proceeded  to  lead  his  men  to  that  designated  point. 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

"  A  sudden  trial,  and  the  danger  comet 
Noiseless  and  nameless  " 

LET  us  g:  back  once  more  to  the  Block  House,  and  look  into  the 
condition  of  its  defenders.  We  remember  the  breaking  of  the 
.adder,  the  only  one  in  the  possession  of  the  garrison,  which  led  to 
the  upper  story  of  the  building.  This  accident  left  them  in  an  ugiy 
predicament,  since  some  time  must  necessarily  be  taken  up  in  its 
repair,  and,  in  the  meanwhile,  the  forces  of  the  garrison  were 
divided  in  the  different  apartments  above  and  below.  In  the  section 
devoted  to  the  women  and  children,  and  somewhat  endangered,  as 
we  have  seen,  from  the  exposed  window  and  the  fallen  tree,  they 
were  its  exclusive  occupants.  The  opposite  chamber  held  a  few  of 
the  more  sturdy  and  common  sense  defenders,  while  in  the  great 
hall  below,  a  miscellaneous  group  of  fifteen  or  twenty — the  inferior 
spirits — were  assembled.  Two  or  three  of  these  were  busied  in 
patching  up  the  broken  ladder,  which  w^s  to  renew  the  communica 
tion  between  the  several  parties,  thus,  of  necessity,  thrown  asunder. 

The  watchers  of  the  fortress,  from  their  several  loop-holes,  looked 
forth,  east  and  west,  yet  saw  no  enemy.  All  was  soft  in  the  picture, 
all  was  silent  in  the  deep  repose  of  the  forest.  The  night  was  clear 
and  lovely,  and  the  vague  and  dim  beauty  with  which,  in  the  im 
perfect  moonlight,  the  foliage  of  the  woods  spread  away  in  distant 
shadows,  or  clung  and  clustered  together  as  in  groups,  shrinking 
for  concealment  from  her  glances,  touchecl  the  spirits  even  of  those 
Hide  foresters.  With  them  the  poetry  of  the  natural  world  is  a 
matter  of  feeling — wilh  the  refined,  it  is  an  instrument  of  art. 
Hence  it  is,  indeed,  that  the  poetry  of  the  early  ages  speaks  in  the 
simplest  language,  while  that  of  civilization,  becoming  only  the 
agent  for  artificial  enjoyment,  is  ornate  in  its  dress,  and  complex  in 
its  form  and  structure. 

17 


386  THE    YEMASSEE. 

The  night  wore  on,  still  calm  and  serene  in  all  its  aspects 
about  the  Block  House.  Far  away  in  the  distance,  like  glimpses 
of  a  spirit,  little  sweeps  of  the  river,  in  its  crooked  windings, 
flashed  upon  the  eye,  streaking,  with  a  sweet  relief,  the  sombre 
foliage  of  the  swampy  forest  through  which  it  stole.  A  single 
note — the  melancholy  murmur  of  the  chuck- will's- widow — 
the  Carolina  whippoorwill — broke  fitfully  upon  the  silence,  to 
which  it  gave  an  added  solemnity.  That  single  note  indicated  to 
the  keepers  of  the  fortress  a  watchfulness  corresponding  with  their 
own,  of  another  living  creature.  Whether  it  were  human  or  not 
— whether  it  were  the  deceptive  lure  and  signal  of  the  savage,  or, 
in  reality,  the  complaining  cry  of  the  solitary  and  sad  night-bird 
which  it  so  resembled,  was,  however,  matter  of  nice  question  with 
those  who  listened  to  the  strain. 

"  They  are  there — they  are  there ; — hidden  in  that  wood  ;" — 
cried  Grayson — "  I'll  swear  it.  I've  heard  them  quite  too  often  not 
to  know  their  cunning  now.  Hector  was  right,  after  all,  boys." 

"  What,  where  ?"—  asked  Nicholas. 

"  There,  in  the  bush  to  the  left  of  the  blasted  oak — now,  down 
to  the  bluff — and  now,  by -the  bay  on  the  right.  They  are  all 
round  us." 

"  By  what  do  you  know,  Wat  ?" 

"  The  whippoorwill — that  is  their  cry — their  signal." 

"  It  is  the  whippoorwill,"  said  Nicholas, — "  there  is  but  one  ol 
them ;  you  never  hear^nore  than  one  at  a  time." 

"  Pshaw  !"  responded  Grayson, — "  you  may  hear  half-a-dozen  a' 
a  time,  as  I  have  done  a  thousand  times.  But  that  is  from  nc 
throat  of  bird.  It  is  the  Indian.  There  is  but  a  single  note,  yoi 
perceive  ;  and  it  rises  from  three  different  quarters.  Now  it  is  tc 
the  Chiefs  Bluff — and  now — it  comes  immediately  from  the  old 
grovp  of  scrubby  oak.  A  few  shot  there  would  get  an  answer." 

"  Good  !  that  is  just  my  thought — let  us  give  them  a  broadside, 
and  disperse  the  scoundrels,"  crTetl  Nichols. 

u  Not  so  fast,  Nichols — you  swallow  your  enemy  without  asking 
leave  of  his  teeth.  Have  you  inquired  first  whether  we  hav< 
powder  and  shot  to  throw  away  upon  bushes  that  may  be  empty  ?' 
now  exclaimed  the  blacksmith,  joining  in  the  raestion. 


THE    YEMASSEE.  387 

u  A  pmdent  thought,  that,  Grimstead,"  said  Grayson, — "  we  have 
DO  ammunition  to  spare  in  that  way.  But  I  have  a  notion  that 
may  prove  of  profit.  Where  is  the  captain's  straw  man — here, 
Grander,  bring  out  Dugdale's  trainer." 

The  stuffed  figure  already  described  was  brought  forward,  the 
window  looking  in  the  direction  of  the  grove  supposed  to  shelter 
the  savages  was  thrown  open,  and  the  perfectly  indifferent  head  of 
the  automaton  thrust  incontinently  through  the  opening.  The  ruse 
was  completely  successful.  The  foe  could  not  well  resist  this 
temptation,  and  a  flight  of  arrows,  penetrating  the  figure  in  every 
portion  of  its  breast  and  face,  attested  the  presence  of  the  enemy 
and  the  truth  of  his  aim.  A  wild  and  shuddering  cry  rang 
through  the  forest  at  the  same  instant — that  cry,  well  known  as  the 
tearful  war-whoop,  the  sound  of  which  made  the  marrow  curdle  in 
the  bones  of  the  frontier  settler,  and  prompted  the  mother  with  a 
nameless  terror  to  hug  closer  to  her  bosom  the  form  of  her  un 
conscious  infant.  It  was  at  once  answered  from  side  to  side, 
wherever  their  several  parties  had  been  stationed,  and  it  struck 
terror  even  into  the  sheltered  garrison  which  heard  it — such  terror 
as  the  traveller  feels  by  night,  when  the  shrill  rattle  of  the  lurking 
serpent,  with  that  ubiquity  of  sound  which  is  one  of  its  fearful 
features,  vibrates  all  around  him,  leaving  him  at  a  loss  to  say  in 
what  quarter  his  enemy  lies  in  waiting,  and  teaching  him  to  dread 
that  the  very  next  step  which  he  takes  may  place  him  within  the 
coil  of  death. 

"  Ay,  there  they  are,  sure  enough — fifty  of  them  at  least,  and  we 
shall  have  them  upon  us,  after  this,  monstrous  quick,  in  some  way 
or  other,"  was  the  speech  of  Grayson,  while  a  brief  silence  through 
all  the  party  marked  the  deep  influence  upon  them  of  the  summons 
which  they  had  heard. 

"  True — and  we  must  be  up  and  doing,"  said  the  smith ;  "  we 
can  now  give  them  a  shot,  Hugh  Grayson,  for  they  will  dance  out 
from  the  cover  now,  thinking  they  have  killed  one  of  us.  The 
savages — they  have  thrown  away  some  of  their  powder  at  least.7* 
As  Grimstead  spoke,  he  drew  three  arrows  with  no  small  difficulty 
from  the  bosom  of  the  figure  in  which  they  were  buried. 

"  Better  there  than  in  our  ribs.     But  you  are  right.     Stand  back 


388  THE   YEMASSEfi. 

for  a  moment  and  let  me  have  that  loop — I  shall  waste  nu 
shot.  Ha  !  I  see — there  is  one — I  see  his  arm  and  the  edge  of  his 
hatchet — it  rests  upon  his  shoulder,  I  reckon,  but  that  is  concealed 
by  the  brush.  He  moves — he  comes  out,  and  slaps  his  hands 
against  his  thigh.  The  red  devil,  but  he  shall  have  it.  Get  ready, 
now,  each  at  his  loop,  for  if  I  hurt  him  they  will  rush  out  in  fury." 

The  sharp  click  of  the  cock  followed  the  words  of  Grayson,  who 
was  an  able  shot,  and  the  next  moment  the  full  report  came  bur 
dened  with  a  dozen  echoes  from  the  crowding  woods  around.  A 
cry  of  pain — then  a  shout  of  fury  and  the  reiterated  whoop  fol 
lowed  ;  and  as  one  of  their  leaders  reeled  and  sank  under  the  un 
erring  bullet,  the  band  in  that  station,  as  had  been  predicted  by 
Grayson,  rushed  forth  to  where  he  stood,  brandishing  their  wea 
pons  with  ineffectual  fury,  and  lifting  their  wounded  comrade,  as 
is  their  general  custom,  to  bear  him  to  a  place  of  concealment, 
and  preserve  him  from  being  scalped, -by  secret  burial,  in  the  event 
of  his  being  dead.  They  paid  for  their  temerity.  Following  the 
direction  of  their  leader,  whose  decision  necessarily  commanded 
their  obedience,  the  Carolinians  took  quite  as  much  advantage  of 
the  exposure  of  their  enemies,  as  the  number  of  the  loop-holes  in 
that  quarter  of  the  building  would  admit.  Five  muskets  told 
among  the  group,  and  a  reiterated  shout  of  fury  indicated  the  good 
service  which  the  discharge  had  done,  and  taught  the  savages  a 
lesson  of  prudence,  which,  in  the  present  instance,  they  had  been 
too  ready  to  disregard.  They  sank  back  into  cover,  taking  care 
however  to  remove  their  hurt  companions,  so  that,  save  by  the  pe 
culiar  cry  which  marks  a  loss  among  them,  the  -  garrison  were  una 
ble  to  determine  what  had  been  the  success  of  their  discharges. 
Having  driven  them  back  into  the  brush,  however,  without  loss  to 
themselves,  the  latter  were  now  sanguine,  where,  only  a  moment 
before,  their  confined  and  cheerless  position  had  taught  them  a 
feeling  of  despondency  not  calculated  to  improve  the  comforts  of 
their  case. 

The  Indians  had  made  their  arrangements,  on  the  other  hand, 
with  no  little  precaution.  L>ut  they  had  been  deceived  and  disap 
pointed.  Their  scouts,  who  had  previously  inspected  the  fortress, 
hud  given  a  very  different  account  of  the  defences  and  the  watch- 


THE    YEMASSEE.  389 

fulness  of  their  garrisoL,  to  what  was  actually  the  fact  upon  their 
appearance.  The  scouts,  however,  had  spoken  truth,  and,  but  for 
the  discovery  made  by  Hector,  the  probability  is  that  the  Block 
House  would  have  been  surprised  witli  little  or  no  difficulty.  Ac 
customed  to  obey  Harrison  as  their  only  leader,  the  foresters  pre 
sent  never  dreamed  of  preparation  for  conflict  unless  under  his 
guidance.  The  timely  advice  of  the  trader's  wife,  and  the  con 
fident  assumption  of  command  on  the  part  of  Walter  Gray  son, 
completed  their  securities.  But  for  this,  a  confusion  of  counsels, 
riot  less  than  of  tongues,  would  have  neutralized  all  action,  and  left 
them  an  easy  prey,  without  head  or  direction,  to  the  knives  of  their 
insidious  enemy.  Calculating  upon  surprise  and  cuimiag  as  tho 
only  means  by  which  they  could  hope  to  balance  the  numerous 
advantages  possessed  by  European  warfare  over  their  own,  the  In 
dians  had  relied  rather  more  on  the  suddenness  of  their  onset,  and 
the  craft  peculiar  to  their  education,  than  on  the  force  of  theii 
valour.  They  felt  themselves  baffled,  therefore,  in  their  main  hope, 
by  the  sleepless  caution  of  the  garrison,  and  now  prepared  them 
selves  for  other  means. 

They  made  their  disposition  of  force  with  no  little  judgment. 
Small  bodies,  at  equal  distances,  under  cover,  had  been  stationed 
nil  about  the  fortress.  With  the  notes  of  the  whippoorwill  they 
had  carried  on  their  signals,  and  indicated  the  several  stages  of 
their  preparation  ;  while,  in  addition  to  this,  another  band — a  sort 
of  forlorn  hope,  consisting  .of  the  more  desperate,  who  had  various 
motives  for  signalizing  their  valour — creeping  singly,  from  cover  to 
cover,  now  reposing  in  the  shadow  of  a  log  along  the  ground,  now 
half  buried  in  a  clustering  bush,  made  their  way  at  length  so 
closely  under  the  walls  of  the  log  house  as  to  be  completely  con 
cealed  from  the  garrison,  which,  unless  by  the  window,  had  no 
mode  of  looking  directly  down  upon  them.  As  the  windows  were 
well  watched  by  their  comrades — having  once  attained  their  place 
of  concealment — it  followed  that  their  position  remained  entirely 
concealed  from  those  within.  They  lay  in  waiting  for  the  favour 
able  moment — silent  as  the  grave,  and  sleepless — ready,  when  th« 
garrison  should  determine  upon  a  sally,  to  fall  upon  their  rear' 
and  in  the  meanwhile,  quietly  preparing  dry  fuel  in  quantity,  gath- 


390  THE   YEMASSEE. 

ering  it  from  time  to  time,  and  piling  it  against  the  legs  of  tht 
fortress,  they  prepared  thus  to  fire  the  defences  that  shut  them 
out  from  their  prey. 

There  was  yet  anotl  ar  mode  of  finding  entrance,  which  has  been 
partially  glimpsed  at  already.  The  scouts  had  done  their  office 
diligently  in  more  than  the  required  respects.  Finding  a  slender 
pine  twisted  by  a  late  storm,  and  scarcely  sustained  by  a  fragment 
of  its  shaft,  they  applied  fire  to  the  rich  turpentine  oozing  from  the 
wounded  part  of  the  tree,  and  carefully  directing  its  fall,  as  it  yielded 
to  the  fire,  they  lodged  its  extremest  branches,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  against  the  wall  of  the  Block  House  and  just  beneath  the 
window,  the  only  one  looking  from  that  quarter  of  the  fortress. 
Three  of  the  bravest  of  their  warriors  were  assigned  for  scaling  this 
point  and  securing  their  entrance,  and  the  attack  was  forborne  by 
the  rest  of  the  band,  while  their  present  design,  upon  which  they 
built  greatly,  was  in  progress. 

Let  us  then  turn  to  this  quarter.  We  have  already  seen  that  the 
dangers  of  this  position  were  duly  estimated  by  Grayson,  under  the 
suggestion  of  Granger's  wife.  Unhappily  for  its  defence,  the  fate  of 
the  ladder  prevented  that  due  attention  to  the  subject,  at  once,  which 
had  been  imperatively  called  for;  and  the  subsequent  excitement 
following  the  discovery  of  the  immediate  proximity  of  the  Indians, 
had  turned  the  consideration  of  the  defenders  to  the  opposite  end 
of  the  building,  from  whence  the  partial  attack  of  the  enemy,  as 
described,  had  come.  It  is  true  that  the  workmen  were  yet  busy 
with  the  ladder ;  but  the  assault  had  suspended  their  operations,  in 
the  impatient  curiosity  which  such  an  event  would  necessarily  induce, 
even  in  the  bosom  of  fear. 

The  wife  of  Grayson,  fully  conscious  of  the  danger,  was  alone 
sleepless  in  that  apartment.  The  rest  of  the  women,  scarcely  appre 
hensive  of  attack  at  all,  and  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  present  condi 
tion  of  affairs,  with  all  that  hcedlessness  which  marks  the  unreflect 
ing  character,  had  sunk  to  the  repose  (without  an  effort  at  watchful 
ness)  which  previous  fatigues  had,  perhaps,  made  absolutely  una 
voidable.  She,  alone,  sat  thoughtful  and  silent — musing  over  pn>' 
sent  prospects — perhaps  of  the  past — but  still  unforgetful  of  the 
difficulties  and  the  dangers  before  her.  With  a  calm  temper  she 


THE    YEMASSEE.         .  391 

awaited  the  relief  which,  with  the  repair  of  the  ladder  sne  looked 
for  from  below. 

Ln  the  meantime  hearing  something  of  the  alarm,  together  with 
the  distant  war-whoop,  she  had  looked  around  her  for  some  means 
of  defence,  in  the  event  of  any  attempt  being  made  upon  the  win 
dow  before  the  aid  promised  could  reach  her.  But  a  solitar) 
weapon  met  her  eye,  in  a  long  heavy  hatchet,  a  clumsy  instru 
ment,  rather  more  like  the  cleaver  of  a  butcher  than  the  light  and 
slender  tomahawk  so  familiar  to  the  Indians.  Having  secured  this, 
with  the  composure  of  that  courage  which  had  been  in  great  part 
taught  her  by  the  necessities  of  fortune,  she  prepared  to  do  without 
other  assistance,  and  to  forego  the  sentiment  of  dependance,  which 
is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  marked  characteristics  of  her  sex. 
Calmly  looking  round  upon  the  sleeping  and  defenceless  crowd 
about  her,  she  resumed  her  seat  upon  a  low  bench  in  a  corner  of 
tlje  apartment,  from  which  she  had  risen  to  secure  the  hatchet,  and, 
extinguishing  the  only  light  in  the  room,  fixed  her  eye  upon  the 
accessible  window,  while  every  thought  of  her  mind  prepared  her 
for  the  danger  which  was  at  hand.  She  had  not  long  been  seated 
when  she  fancied  that  she  heard  a  slight  rustling  of  the  branches 
of  the  fallen  tree  just  beneath  the  window.  She  could  not  doubt 
her  senses,  and  her  heart  swelled  and  throbbed  with  the  conscious 
ness  of  approaching  danger.  But  still  she  was  firm — her  spirit 
grew  more  confirmed  with  the  coming  trial ;  and,  coolly  throwing 
the  slippers  from  her  feet,  grasping  firmly  her  hatchet  at  the  same 
time,  she  softly  arose,  and  keeping  close  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall, 
she  made  her  way  to  a  recess,  a  foot  or  so  from  the  entrance,  to 
which  it  was  evident  some  one  was  cautiously  approaching  along 
the  attenuated  body  of  the  yielding  pine.  In  a  few  moments  and  a 
shadow  darkened  the  opening.  She  edged  more  closely  to  the  point, 
and  prepared  for  the  intruder.  She  now  beheld  the  head  of  the 
enemy — a  fierce  and  foully  painted  savage — the  war-tuft  rising  up 
into  a  ridge,  something  like  a  comb,  arid  his  face  smeared  with, 
colours  in  a  style  the  most  ferociously  grotesque.  Still  she  could 
not  strike,  for,  as  he  had  not  penetrated  the  window,  and  as  its 
entrance  was  quite  too  small  to  enable  her  to  strike  with  any  hope 
of  success  at  anv  distance  through  it,  she  felt  that  the  effort  would 


392  THE    YEMASSEE. 

be  wholly  without  certainty ;  and  failure  might  be  of  the  worst 
consequence.  Though  greatly  excited,  and  struggling  between 
doubt  and  determination,  she  readily  saw  what  would  be  the  error 
of  any  precipitation.  But  even  as  she  mused  thus  apprehensively, 
the  cunning  savage  laid  his  hand  upon  the  sill  of  the  window,  the 
better  to  raise  himself  to  its  level.  That  sight  tempted  her  in  spite 
of  her  better  sense,  to  the  very  precipitation  she  had  desired  to  avoid. 
In  the  moment  that  she  saw  the  hand  of  the  red  man  upon  the  silJ, 
the  hatchet  descended,  under  an  impulse  scarcely  her  own.  She 
ri,ruck  too  quickly.  The  blow  was  given  with  all  her  force,  and 
would  certainly  have  separated  the  hand  from  the  arm  had  it  taken 
effect.  But  the  quick  eye  of  the  Indian  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
movement  at  the  very  moment  in  which  it  was  made,  and  the  hand 
was  withdrawn  before  the  hatchet  descended.  The  steel  sank  deep 
into  the  soft  wood — so  deeply  that  she  could  not  disengage  it.  To 
try  at  this  object  would  have  exposed  her  at  once  to  his  weapon, 
and  leaving  it  where  it  stuck,  she  sunk  back  again  into  shadow. 

What  now  was  she  to  do  ?  To  stay  where  she  was  would  be  of 
little  avail ;  but  to  cry  out  to  those  below,  and  seek  to  fly,  was 
equally  unproductive  of  good,  besides  warning  the  enemy  of  the 
defencelessness  of  their  condition,  and  thus  inviting  a  renewal  of 
the  attack.  The  thought  came  to  her  with  the  danger;  and,  with 
out  a  word,  she  maintained  her  position,  in  waiting  for  the  progress 
of  events.  As  the  Indian  had  also  sunk  from  sight,  and  some 
moments  had  now  elapsed  without  his  reappearance,  she  determined 
to  make  another  effort  for  the  recovery  of  the  hatchet.  She 
grasped  it  by  the  handle,  and  in  the  next  moment  the  hand  of  the 
savage  was  upon  her  own.  He  felt  that  his  grasp  was  on  the 
fingers  of  a  woman,  and  in  a  brief  word  and  something  of  a  chuckle, 
while  he  still  maintained  his  hold  upon  it,  he  conveyed  intelligence 
of  the  fact  to  those  below.  But  it  was  a  woman  with  a  man's 
spirit  with  whom  he  contended,  and  her  endeavour  was  successful 
to  disengage  herself.  The  same  success  did  not  attend  her  effort  to 
recover  the  weapon.  In  the  brief  struggle  with  her  enemy  it  had 
become  disengaged  from  the  wood,  and  while  both  strove  to  seize 
it,  it  slipped  from  their  mutual  hands,  and  sliding  over  the  sill,  in 
another  instant  was  heard  rattling  through  the  intervening  bushes 


THE  YEMASSEE.  398 

Descending  upon  the  ground  below,  it  became  the  spoil  of  those 
without,  whose  murmurs  of  gratulation  she  distinctly  heard.  But 
now  came  the  tug  of  difficulty.  The  Indian,  striving  at  the 
entrance,  was  necessarily  encouraged  by  the  discovery  that  liis 
opponent  was  not  a  man  ;  and  assured,  at  the  san*e  time,  by  the 
forbearance,  on  the  part  of  those  within,  to  strike  him  effectually 
down  from  the  tree,  he  now  resolutely  endeavoured  to  effect  his 
entrance.  His  head  was  again  fully  in  sight  of  the  anxious  woman 
—then  his  shoulders ;  and,  at  length,  taking  a  firm  grasp  upon  the 
sill,  he  strove  to  elevate  himself  by  muscular  strength,  so  as  to  se 
cure  him  sufficient  purchase  for  the  entrance  at  which  he  aimed. 

What  could  she  do — weaponless,  hopeless  ?  The  prospect  was 
startling  and  terrible  enough  ;  but  she  was  a  strong-minded  woman, 
and  impulse  served  her  when  reflection  would  most  probably  have 
taught  her  to  fly.  She  had  but  one  resource  ;  and  as  the  Indian  had 
gradually  thrust  one  hand  forward  for  the  hold  upon  the  sill,  and 
raised  the  other  up  to  the  side  of  the  window,  she  grasped  the  one 
nighest  to  her  own.  She  grasped  it  firmly,  with  all  her  might,  and 
to  advantage,  as,  having  lifted  himself  on  tiptoe  for  the  purpose  of 
ascent,  he  had  necessarily  lost  much  of  the  control  which  a  secure 
hold  for  his  feet  must  have  given  him.  Her  grasp  sufficiently  assisted 
him  forward,  to  lessen  still  more  greatly  the  security  of  his  feet, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  though  bringing  him  still  farther  into  the 
apartment,  placing  him  in  such  a  position-r-half  in  air — as  to  de 
feat  much  of  the  muscular  exercise  which  his  limbs  would  have 
possessed  in  any  other  situation.  Her  weapon  now  would  have 
been  all-important ;  and  the  brave  woman  mentally  deplored  the 
precipitancy  with  which  she  had  acted  in  the  first  instance,  and 
which  had  so  unhappily  deprived  her  of  its  use.  But  self-reproach 
was  unavailing  now,  and  she  was  satisfied  if  she  could  be  able  to 
retain  her  foe  in  his  present  position ;  by  which,  keeping  him  out, 
or  in  and  out,  as  she  did,  she  necessarily  excluded  all  other  foes 
from  the  aperture  which  he  so  completely  filled  up.  The  intruder, 
though  desirous  enough  of  entrance  before,  was  rather  reluctant  to 
obtain  it  new,  under  existing  circumstances.  He  strove  desperately 
to  effect  a  retreat,  but  had  advanced  too  far,  however,  to  be  easily 
successful ;  and,  in  his  confusion  and  disquiet,  he  spoke  to  those 

17* 


394  THE    YEMASSEE. 

below,  in  his  own  language,  explaining  his  difficulty,  and  directing 
their  movement  to  his  assistance.  A  sudden  rush  along  the  tree 
indicated  to  the  conscious  sense  of  the  woman  the  new  danger,  in 
the  approach  of  additional  enemies,  who  must  not  only  sustain,  but 
push  forward,  the  one  with  whom  she  contended.  This  warned  her 
at  once  of  the  necessity  of  some  sudden  procedure,  if  she  hoped  to 
do  any  thing  for  her  own  and  the  safety  of  those  around  her — the 
women  and  the  children ;  whom,  amid  all  the  contest,  she  had  never 
once  alarmed.  Putting  forth  all  her  strength,  therefore,  though 
nothing  in  comparison  with  that  of  him  whom  she  opposed,  had  he 
been  in  a  condition  to  exert  it,  she  strove  to  draw  him  still  farther 
across  the  entrance,  so  as  to  exclude,  n  possible,  the  approach  of 
those  coming  behind  him.  She  hoped  to  gain  time — sufficient 
time  for  those  preparing  the  ladder  to  come  to  her  relief;  and  with 
this  hope,  for  the  first  time,  she  called  aloud  to  Grayson  and  her 
husband. 

The  Indian,  in  the  meanwhile, derived  the  support  for  his  person, 
as  well  from  the  grasp  of  the  woman,  as  from  his  own  hold  upon 
the  sill  of  the  window.  Her  effort  necessarily  drawing  him  still 
farther  forward,  placed  him  so  completely  in  the  way  of  his  allies 
that  they  could  do  him  little  service  while  things  remained  in  this 
situation ;  and,  to  complete  the  difficulties  of  his  predicament, 
while  they  busied  themselves  in  several  efforts  at  his  extrication, 
the  branches  of  the  littl^  tree,  resting  against  the  dwelling,  yielding 
suddenly  to  the  unusual  weight  upon  it — trembling  and  sinking 
away  at  last — cracked  beneath  the  burden,  and  snapping  off  from 
its  several  holds,  fell  from  under  them,  dragging  against  the  build 
ing  in  the  progress  down  ;  thus  breaking  their  fall,  but  cutting  off 
al!  their  hope  from  this  mode  of  entrance,  and  leaving  their 
comrade  awkwardly  poised  aloft,  able  neither  to  enter,  nor  to  depart 
from  the  window.  The  tree  finally  settled  heavily  upon  the  ground  , 
and  with  it  went  the  three  savages  who  had  so  readily  ascended  to 
the  assistance  of  their  comrade — bruised  and  very  much  hurt; 
while  he,  now  without  any  support  but  that  whictf  he  derived  from 
the  sill,  and  what  little  his  feet  could  secure  from  the  irregular 
crevices  between  the  logs  of  which  the  house  had  been  built,  was 
hung  in  air,  unable  to  advance  except  at  the  will  of  his  woman 


THE    YEMASSEE.  395 

k 

opponent,  and  dreading  a  far  worse  fall  from  his  eminence  than 
that  which  had  already  happened  to  his  allies.  Desperate  with  his 
situation,  he  thrust  his  arm,  as  it  was  still  held  by  the  woman,  still 
farther  into  the  window,  and  this  enabled  her  with  both  hands  to 
secure  and  strengthen  the  grasp  which  she  had  originally  taken 
upon  it.  This  she  did  with  a  new  courage  and  strength,  derived 
from  the  voices  below,  by  which  she  understood  a  promise  of 
assistance.  Excited  and  nerved,  she  drew  the  extended  arm  of  the 
Indian,  in  spite  of  all  his  struggles,  directly  over  the  sill,  so  as  to 
turn  the  elbow  completely  down  upon  it.  With  her  whole  weight 
thus  employed,  bending  down  to  the  floor  to  strengthen  herself  to 
the  task,  she  pressed  the  arm  across  the  window  until  her  ears 
heard  the  distinct,  clear  crack  of  the  bone — until  she  heard  the 
groan,  and  felt  the  awful  struggles  of  the  suffering  wretch,  twisting 
himself  round  with  all  his  effort  to  obtain  for  the  shattered  arm,  a 
natural  and  relaxed  position,  and,  with  this  object,  leaving  his  hold 
upon  every  thing ;  only  sustained,  indeed,  by  the  grasp  of  his 
enemy.  But  the  movement  of  the  woman  had  been  quite  too 
sudden,  her  nerves  too  firm,  and  her  strength  too  great,  to  suffer 
him  to  succeed.  The  jagged  splinters  of  the  broken  limb  were 
thrust  up,  lacerating  and  tearing  through  flesh  and  skin,  while  a 
howl  of  the  acutest  agony  attested  the  severity  of  that  suffering 
which  could  extort  such  an  acknowledgment  from  the  American 
savage.  He  fainted  in  his  pain,  and  as  the  weight  increased  upon 
the  arm  of  the  woman,  the  nature  of  her  sex  began  to  resume  it? 
sway.  With  a  shudder  of  every  fibre,  she  released  her  hold  upon 
him.  The  effort  of  her  soul  was  over — a  strange  sickness  came 
upon  her ;  and  she  was  just  conscious  of  a  crashing  fall  of  the 
heavy  body  among  the  branches  of  the  tree  at  the  foot  of  ihe 
window,  when  she  staggered  back  fainting  into  the  arms  of  Lw 
husband,  who  just  at  that  moment  ascended  to  her  relief. 


CHAPTER     XLVII. 

M  He  shouts,  he  strikes,  he  falls— his  fields  are  o'er  , 
He  dies  111  triumph,  and  he  asks  no  more." 

THESE  slight  defeats  were  sufficiently  annoying  in  themselves  to 
the  invaders ;  they  were  more  so,  as  they  proved  not  only  the  in 
adequacy  of  their  present  mode  of  assault,  but  the  watchfulness 
of  the  beleaguered  garrison.  Their  hope  had  been  to  take  the 
borderers  by  surprise.  Failing  to  succeed  in  this,  they  were  now 
thrown  all  aback.  Their  fury  was  consequently -more  than  ever 
exaggerated  by  their  losses,  and,  rushing  forward  in  their  despera 
tion,  through,  and  in  defiance  of,  the  fire  from  the  Carolinians,  the 
greater  number  placed  themselves  beneath  the  line  of  pickets,  with 
so  much  celerity  as  to  baffle,  in  most  respects,  the  aim  of  the  de 
fenders.  A  few  remained  to  bear  away  the  wounded  and  slain  to 
a  place  of  safe  shelter  in  the  thick  woods,  while  the  rest  lay,  either 
in  quiet  under  the  walls  of  the  Block  House,  secure  there  from  the 
fire  of  the  garrison,  or  amused  themselves  in  unavailing  cries  of 
sarcasm  to  those  within,  while  impotently  expending  blows  upon 
the  insensible  logs  between  them.  The  elder  Grayson,  who  directed 
solely  the  movements  of  the  beleaguered,  was  not  unwilling  that 
the  assailants  should  amuse  themselves  after  this  fashion,  as  the 
delay  of  the  Indians  w.as  to  them  the  gain  of  time,  which  was  all 
they  could  expect  at  such  a  period,  and,  perhaps,  in  a  predatory 
warfare  like  the  present,  all  that  they  could  desire. 

But  Ishiagaska  with  his  force  now  came  upon  the  scene,  and 
somewhat  changed  the  aspect  of  affairs.  He  took  the  entire  com 
mand,  reinvigorated  the  efforts  of  the  red  men,  and  considerably 
altered  the  mode  and  direction  of  attack.  He  was  a  subtle  par 
tisan,  and  the  consequences  of  his  appearance  were  soon  percepti 
ble  in  the  development  of  events.  The  force  immediately  beneath 
Uie  walls,  and  secure  from  the  shot  of  the  garrison,  were  reinforced, 


THE    YEMASSEE.  397 

and  in  so  cautious  a  manner,  that  the  Carolinians  were  entirely 
ignorant  of  the  increased  strength  of  the  enemy  in  that  quarter. 
Creeping,  as  they  did,  from  bush  to  bush — now  lying  prone  and 
silent  to  the  ground,  in  utter  immobility — now  rushing,  as  circum 
stances  prompted,  with  all  rapidity — they  put  themselves  into  cover, 
crossing  the  intervening  space  without  the  loss  of  a  man.  Having 
thus  collected  in  force  beneath  the  walls  of  the  fortress,  the  greater 
number  proceeded  to  gather  up  in  piles,  as  they  had  begun  to  do 
before,  immense  quantities  of  the  dry  pine  trash  and  the  gummy 
turpentine  wood  which  the  neighbourhood  readily  afforded.  Other 
parties  watched  the  garrison,  with  bows  ready,  and  arrows  on  the 
string.  Meanwhile,  the  piles  of  combustible  matter  were  heaped 
in  thick  masses  around  the  more  accessible  points  of  the  picket* ; 
arid  the  first  intimation  which  the  garrison  had  of  their  proceeding 
was  a  sudden  gust  of  flame,  blazing  first  about  the  gate  of  the 
area,  on  one  side  of  the  Block  llouse,  then  rushing  from  point  to 
point  with  amazing  rapidity,  sweeping  and  curling  widely  around 
the  building  itself.  The  gate,  and  the  pickets  all  about  it,  made 
as  they  had  been  of  the  rich  pine,  for  its  great  durability,  were 
themselves  as  appropriate  materials  for  the  destructive  element  to 
feed  upon,  as  the  Indians  could  have  desired  ;  and,  licked  greedily 
by  the  fire,  were  soon  ignited.  Blazing  impetuously,  the  flames 
soon  aroused  the  indwellers  to  a  more  acute  consciousness  of  the 
danger  now  at  hand.  A  fierce  shout  of  their  assailants,  as  they 
beheld  the  rapid  progress  of  the  experiment,  warned  them  to 
greater  exertion  if  they  hoped  to  escape  the  dreadful  fate  which 
threatened  to  engulf  them.  To  remain  where  they  were,  was  to 
be  consumed  in  the  flames  ;  to  rush  forth,  was  to  encounter  the 
tomahawks  of  an  enemy  five  times  their  number. 

It  was  a  moment  of  gloomy  necessity,  that  which  assembled  the 
chief  defenders  of  the  fortress  to  a  sort  of  war-council.  They 
could  only  deliberate — to  fight  was  out  of  the  question.  Theii 
enemy  was  one  to  whom  they  could  now  oppose 


Nor  subtle  wile, 


Nor  arbitration  strong." 
The  Indians  showed  no  front  for  assault  or  aim,  while  the  flames, 


598  THE   YEMASSEE, 

rushing  from  point  to  point,  and  seizing  upon  numerous  places 
at  once,  continued  to  advance  with  a  degree  of  celerity  which  left 
it  impossible,  in  the  dry  condition  of  its  timber,  that  the  Block 
House  could  possibly,  for  any  length  of  time,  escape.  Upon  the 
building  itself  the  savages  could  not  fix  the  fire  at  fir?*-  But  two 
ends  of  it  were  directly  accessible  to  them,  and  these  were  without 
any  entrance,  had  been  pierced  with  holes  for  musketry,  and  were 
well  watched  by  the  vigilant  eyes  within.  The  two  sides  were  in 
closed  by  the  line  of  pickets,  and  had  no  need  of  other  guardian 
ship.  The  condition  of  affairs  was  deplorable.  The  women  wept 
and  prayed,  the  children  screamed,  and  the  men,  assembling  in  the 
long  apartment  of  the  lower  story,  with  heavy  hearts  and  solemn 
faces,  proceeded  to  ask  counsel  of  one  another  in  the  last  resort. 
Some  lay  around  on  the  loose  plank ;  here  and  there,  along  the  floor, 
a  bearskin  formed  the  place  of  rest  for  a  huge  and  sullen  warrior, 
vexed  with  the  possession  of  strength  which  he  was  not  permitted 
to  employ.  A  few  watched  at  the  musket  holes,  and  others  busied 
themselves  in  adjusting  all  things  for  the  final  necessity,  so  far  as 
their  thoughts  or  fancies  could  possibly  divine  its  shape. 

The  principal  men  of  the  garrison  were  gathered  in  the  centre 
of  the  hall,  sitting  with  downcast  heads  and  fronting  one  another, 
along  two  of  the  uncovered  sleepers  ;  their  muskets  resting  idly 
between  their  legs,  their  attitudes  and  general  expression  of  abandon 
signifying  clearly  the  due  increase  of  apprehension  in  their  minds 
with  the  progress  of  the  flames.  Broad  flashes  of  light  from  the 
surrounding  conflagration  illuminated,  but  could  not  enliven,  the 
sombre  character  of  that  grouping.  A  general  pause  ensued  after 
their  assemblage,  none  seeming  willing  or  able  to  offer  counsel ; 
and  Grayson  himself,  the  brave  forester  in  command,  was  evidently 
at  fault  in  the  farther  business  before  them.  Nichols  was  the 
only  man  to  break  the  silence,  which  he  did  in  his  usual  manner. 

"  And  why,  my  friends,  are  we  here  assembled  V  was  his  saga 
cious  inquiry,  looking  round  as  he  spoke  upon  his  inattentive  co 
adjutors.  A  forced  smile  on  the  faces  of  several,  but  not  a  word? 
attested  their  uniform  estimate  of  the  speaker.  He  proceeded  : 

"  That  is  the  question,  my  friends — why  are  we  here  assembled  ! 
I  answer,  for  the  good  of  the  people.  We  are  here  to  protect 


THE    ^EMASSEE.  39S 

them  if  we  can,  and  to  perish  for,  and  with  them,  if  \ve  must.  1 
cannot  forget  my  duties  to  my  country,  and  to  those  in  whose 
behalf  I  stand  before  the  hatchet  of  the  Indian,  and  the  cannon  of 
the  Spaniard.  These  teach  me,  and  I  would  teach  it  to  you,  my 
friends — to  fight,  to  hold  out  to  the  last.  We  may  not  think  of 
surrender,  my  friends,  until  other  hope  is  gone.  Whatever  be  the 
peril,  till  that  moment  be  it  mine  to  encounter  it — whatever  be 
the  privation,  till  that  moment  I  am  the  man  to  endure  it.  Be  it 
for  me,  at  least,  though  I  stand  alone  in  this  particular,  to  do  for 
the  people  whatever  wisdom  or  valour  may  do  until  the  moment 
comes  which  shall  call  on  us  for  surrender.  The  question  now, 
my  friends,  is  simply  this — has  that  moment  come  or  not?  I 
pause  for  a  reply." 

"  Who  talks  of  surrender  ?"  growled  the  smith,  as  he  cast  a  glance 
of  ferocity  at  the  speaker.  "  W^ho  talks  of  surrender  at  all,  to  these 
cursed  bloodhounds ;  the  red-skins  that  hunt  for  nothing  but  our 
blood  !  We  cannot  surrender  if  we  would — we  must  fight,  die,  do 
anything  but  surrender  !" 

"  So  say  I — I  am  ready  to  fight  and  die  for  my  country.  I  say  it 
now,  as  I  have  said  it  a  hundred  times  before,  but — "  The  speech 
which  Nichols  had  thus  begun,  the  smith  again  interrupted  with  a 
greater  bull-dog  expression  than  ever. 

"•  Ay,  so  you  have,  and  so  will  say  a  hundred  times  more — with 
as  little  sense  in  it  one  time  as  another.  We  are  all  here  to  die,  if 
there's  any  need  for  it ;  but  that  isn't  the  trouble.  It's  how  we  are 
to  die — that's  the  question.  Ardfcve  to  stay  here  and  be  burnt  to 
death  like  timber-rats — to  sally  out  and  be  shot,  or  to  volunteer,  as 
I  do  now,  axe  in  hand,  to  go  out  and  cut  down  the  pickets  that 
immediately  join  the  house  ?  By  that  we  may  put  a  stop  to  the 
fire,  and  then  we  shall  have  a  clear  dig  at  the  savages  that  lie  behind 
them.  I'm  for  that.  If  anybody's  willing  to  go  along  with  me,  let 
him  up  hands — no  talk — we  have  too  much  of  that  already." 

"I'm  ready — here  !"  crhd  Grayson,  and  his  hands  were  thrust  up 
at  the  instant. 

"No,  Wat,"  cried  the  smith — "not  you — you  must  stay  and 
manage  here.  Your  head's  the  coolest,  and  though  Fd  sooner  have 
your  arm  alongside  of  me  in  the  rough  time  than  any  other  two  that  1 


400  THE    YEMASSEE. 

know  of,  'twould  not  do  to  take  you  from  the  rest  on  this  risk.  Whc 
else  is  ready  ? — let  him  corne  to  the  scratch,  and  no  long  talk  about  it. 
What  do  you  say,  Nichols  ?  that's  chance  enough  for  you,  if  you 
really  want  to  die  for  the  people."  And  as  Grimstead  spoke,  he 
thrust  his  head  forward,  while  his  eyes  peered  into  the  very  bosom 
of  the  little  doctor,  and  his  axe  descended  to  the  joist  over  which 
he  stood  with  a  thundering  emphasis  that  rang  through  the  apart 
ment. 

"  I  can't  use  the  axe,"  cried  Nichols,  hurriedly.  "  It's  not  my 
instrument.  Sword  or  pistol  for  me.  In  their  exercise  I  give  way 
to  no  man,  and  in  their  use  I  ask  for  no  leader.  But  I  am  neither 
woodman  nor  blacksmith." 

"  And  this  is  your  way  of  dying  for  the  good  of  the  peor>le !" 
said  the  smith  contemptuously. 

"  I  am  willing  even  now — I  say  it  again,  as  I  have  before  said, 
and  as  now  I  solemnly  repeat  it.  But  I  must  die  for  them  after  my 
own  fashion,  and  under  proper  circumstances.  With  sword  in  hand 
crossing  the  perilous  breach — with  weapon  befitting  the  use  of  a 
noble  gentleman,  I  am  ready;  but  I  know  not  any  rule  in  patriotism 
that  would  require  of  me  to  perish  for  my  country  with  the  broad 
axe  of  a  wood-chopper,  the  cleaver  of  a  butcher,  or  the  sledge  of  a 
blacksmith  in  my  hands." 

"Well,  I'm  no  soldier,"  retorted  the  smith;  "but  I  think  a  man, 
to  be  really  willing  to  die  for  his  country,  shouldn't  be  too  nice  as 
to  which  way  he  does  it.  Now  the  sword  and  the  pistol  are  of 
monstrous  little  use  here.  The  n»skets  from  these  holes,  above  and 
below,  will  keep  off  the  Indians,  while  a  few  of  us  cut  down  the 
stakes ;  so  now,  men,  as  time  grows  short.  Grayson,  you  let  the 
boys  keep  a  sharp  look  out  with  the  -ticklers,  and  I'll  for  the  timber, 
let  him  follow  who  will.  There  are  boys  enough,  I  take  it,  to  go 
with  Dick  Grimstead,  though  they  may  none  of  them  be  very 
anxious  to  die  for  their  country." 

Thus  saying,  and  having  received  the  sanction  of  Grayson  to  this, 
the  only  project  from  which  anything  could  be  expected,  the  black 
smith  pushed  forward,  thowing  open  the  door  leading  to  the  area 
which  the  fire  in  great  part  now  beleaguered — while  Grayson  made 
arrangements  to  command  the  group  with  his  musketry,  and  tr 


THE    YEMASSEE.  401 

keep  the  entrance,  thus  opened  for  Grimstead  and  his  party,  with 
his  choicest  men.  The  blacksmith  was  one  of  those  blunt,  burly 
fellows,  who  take  with  the  populace.  It  was  not  difficult  for  him  to 
procure  three*  men  where  twenty  were  ready.  They  had  listened 
with  much  sympathy  to  the  discussion  narrated,  and  as  the  pom 
posity  and  assumption  of  Nichols  had  made  him  an  object  of  vulgar 
ridicule,  a  desire  to  rebuke  him,  not  less  than  a  willingness  to  go 
with  the  smith,  contributed  readily  to  persuade  them  to  the  adven 
ture.  In  a  few  moments  the  door  was  unbarred,  and  the  party  sal 
lied  forth  through  the  entrance,  which  was  kept  ajar  for  their  ingress, 
and  well  watched  by  half  a  dozen  of  the  stoutest  men  in  the  garri 
son,  Grayson  at  their  head.  Nichols  went  above  to  direct  the 
musket-men,  while  his  mind  busied  itself  in  conning  over  the  form 
of  capitulation,  which  he  thought  it  not  improbable  that  he  should 
have  to  frame  with  the  chiefs  of  the  besieging  army.  In  this 
labour  he  had  but  one  cause  of  vexation,  which  arose  from  the 
necessity  he  would  be  under,  in  enumerating  the  prisoners,  of 
putting  himself  after  Grayson,  t./e  commander. 

In  the  meanwhile,  with  sleeves  rolled  up,  jacket  off,  and  face  that 
seemed  not  often  to  have  been  entirely  free  from  the  begriming 
olackness  of  his  profession,  Grimstead  commenced  his  tremendous 
blows  upon  the  contiguous  pickets,  followed  with  like  zeal,  if  not 
equal  power,  by  the  thjee  men  who  had  volunteered  along  with  him. 
Down  went  the  first  post  beneath  his  arm,  and  as,  with  resolute 
spirit,  he  was  about  to  assail  another,  a  huge  Santee  warrior  stood 
in  the  gap  which  he  had  made,  and,  with  a  powerful  blow  from  the 
mace  which  he  carried — had  our  blacksmith  been  less  observant — 
would  have  soon  finished  his  career.  But  Grimstead  was  a  man 
of  agility  as  well  as  strength  and  spirit,  and,  leaping  aside  from  the 
blow,  as  his  eye  rose  to  the  corresponding  glance  from  that  of  his 
enemy,  he  gave  due  warning  to  his  axe-men,  who  forbore  their 
strokes  under  his  command.  The  aperture  was  yet  too  small  for 
any  combat  of  the  parties  ;  and,  ignorant  of  the  force  against  him, 
surprised  also  at  its  appearance,  he  despatched  one  of  his  men  to 
Grayson,  and  gave  directions,  which,  had  they  been  complied  with, 
had  certainly  given  the  advantage  to  the  garrison 

tk  Now,  boys,  you  shall  have  fun — I  have  sent  for  some 


4:02  THE    YEMASSEE. 

hand  men  to  do  the  fighting,  while  we  do  the  chopping, — acd 
Nichols,  who  loves  dying  so  much,  can't  help  coming  along  with 
them.  He's  the  boy  for  sword  and  pistol — lie's  no  woodcutte  •. 
Well,  many  a  better  chap  than  he's  had  to  chop  wood  for  a  i 
honest  living.  But  we'll  see  now  what  he  is  good  for.  Ltt  liii  i 
come." 

"  Oh,  he's  all  flash  in  th^  pan,  Grimstead.     His  tongue  is  mu. 
tard-seed  enough,  but  'taint  the  shot.      But  what's  that —  P 

The  speaker,  who  was  one.  of  Grimstead's  comrades,  might  w«l' 
ask,  for  first  a  crackling,  then  a  whirling  crash,  announced  the  fail, 
at  length,  of  the  huge  gate  to  the  entrance  of  the  court, 
volume  of  flame  and  cinders,  rising  with  the  gust  which  it  created, 
rushed  up,  obscuring  for  a  moment,  and  blinding  all  things  around 
it ;  but,  as  it  subsided,  the  Indians  lying  in  wait  on  the  outside 
and  whom  no  smoke  could  blird,  leaped  with  uplifted  tomahawk 
through  the  blazing  ruins,  and^ pushed  forward  to  the  half-opened 
entrance  of  the  Block  House.  Ihe  brave  blacksmith,  admirably 
supported,  threw  himself  in  the  v*y,  and  was  singled  out  by  the 
huge  warrior  who  had  struck  at  him  through  the  picket.  Tin 
savage  was  brave  and  strong,  but  b*  had  his  match  in  the  smith, 
whose  courage  was  indomitable  and  lively,  while  his  strength  was 
surpassed  by  that  of  few.  Wielding  bis  axe  with  a  degree  of  ease 
that,  of  itself,  warned  the  enemy  what  lie  had  to  expect,  it  was  but 
a  moment  before  the  Indian  gave  way  before  him.  But  the  smith 
was  not  disposed  to  allow  a  mere  acknowledgment  of  his  superi 
ority  to  pass  for  victory.  He  pressed  him  back  upon  his  comrades, 
while  his  own  three  aids,  strong  and  gallant  themselves,  following 
his  example,  drove  the  intruders  upon  the  blaze  which  flamed  furi 
ously  around  them.  Already  had  a  severe  wound,  which  almost 
severed  the  arm  of  the  Santee  warrior  from  its  trunk,  confirmed 
the  advantage  gained  by  the  whites,  while  severe  hatchet  wounds 
had  diminished  not  a  little  the  courage  of  his  Indian  fellows,  when, 
of  a  sudden,  a  new  party  came  upon  the  scene  of  combat,  changing 
entirely  its  face  and  character,  and  diminishing  still  more  the 
chances  of  the  Carolinians. 

This  was  Chorley,  the  captain  of  the  pirate.     Having  lodged 
hia  captives,  a^  we  have  seen,  in  a  little  hovel  on  the  river's  brink, 


THE   YEMASSEE.  403 

under  a  small  guard  of  his  own  seamen,  he  had  proceeded  with  all 
dae  speed  upon  the  steps  of  Ishiagaska.  He  arrived  opportunely 
for  the  band  which  had  been  placed  along  the  walls  of  the  Block 
House,  in  ambush,  and  whose  daring  had  at  length  carried  them 
into  the  outer  defences  of  the  fortress.  A  single  shot  from  one  of 
his  men  immediately  warned  the  smith  and  his  brave  comrades  of 
the  new  enemy  before  them,  and  while  stimulating  afresh  the 
courage  of  their  savage  assailants,  it  materially  diminished  their 
.own.  They  gave  back — the  three  survivors — one  ot  the  party 
having  fallen  in  the  first  discharge.  The  Indians  rushed  upon 
them,  and  thus  throwing  themselves  between,  for  a  time  defeated  the 
aim  of  Chorley's  musketeers.  Fighting  like  a  lion,  as  he  retreated 
to  the  door  of  the  Block  House,  the  brave  smith  continued  to  keep 
unharmed,  making  at  the  same  time  some  little  employment  in 
the  shape  of  ugly  wounds  to  dress,  in  the  persons  of  his  rash  assail 
ants.  Once  more  they  gave  back  before  him,  and  again  the  mus 
ketry  of  Chorley  was  enabled  to  tell  upon  him.  A  discharge  from 
the  Block  House  in  the  meantime  retorted  with  good  eft'ect  the 
attack  of  the  sailors,  and  taught  a  lesson  of  caution  to  Chorley,  of 
which  he  soon  availed  himself.  Three  of  his  men  bit  the  dust  in 
that  single  fire  ;  and  the  Indians,  suffering  more  severely,  fled  at 
the  discharge.  The  brave  smith  reached  the  door  with  a  single 
unwounded  follower,  himself  unhurt.  His  comrades  threw  open 
the  entrance  for  his  reception,  but  an  instant  too  late.  A  parting 
shot  from  the  muskets  of  the  seamen  was  made  with  a  fatal  effect. 
Grimstead  sank  down  upon  the  threshold  as  the  bullet  passed 
through  his  body — the  axe  fell  from  his  hand — he  grasped  at  it  con 
vulsively,  and  lay  extended  in  part  upon  the  sill  of  the -door,  when 
Grayson  drew  him  in  safety  within,  and  again  securely  closed  it. 

•'  You  are  not  hurt,  Dick,  my  old  fellow,"  exclaimed  Grayson, 
his  voice  trembling  with  the  apprehensions  which  he  felt. 

"  Hurt  enough,  Wat — bad  enough.  No  more  grist  ground  at 
that  mill.  But,  hold  in — don't  be  frightened — you  can  lick  'em 
yet.  Ah,"  he  groaned  in  a  mortal  agony. 

They  composed  his  limbs,  and  pouring  some  spirits  down  his 
throat,  he  recovered  in  a  few  moments,  and  convulsively  inquired 
for  his  axe. 


THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  I  wouldn't  lose  it — it  was  dad's  own  axe,  and  must  go  to  bro- 
Jier  Torn  when  I  die." 

"  Die  indeed,  Dick — don't  speak  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Grayson. 

"  I  don't,  Hugh — I  leave  that  to  Nichols — but  get  the  axe — ah  ! 
God — it's  here — here — where's  Tom  ?" 

His  brother,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  caine  down  to  him  from  the 
upper  apartment  where  he  had  been  stationed,  and  kneeling  over 
him,  tried  to  support  his  head — but  the  blood  gushed  in  a  torrent 
from  his  mouth.  He  strove  to  speak,  but  choked  in  the  effort. 
A  Dingle  convulsion,  which  turned  him  upon  his  face,  and  tbe 
struggle  was  all  over  The  battles  of  the  smith  were  done. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

"  The  last  blow  fqr  his  country,  and  he  die», 
Surviving  not  the  rum  he  must  see." 

THE  force  brought  up  by  the  younger  Grayson,  and  now  led  by 
Harrison,  came  opportunely  to  the  relief -of  the  garrison.  The 
flames  had  continued  to  rage,  unrestrained,  so  rapidly  around  the 
building,  that  its  walls  were  at  length  greedily  seized  upon  by  the 
furious  element,  and  the  dense  smoke,  gathering  through  all  its 
apartments,  was  alone  sufficient  to  compel  the  retreat  of  its  defend 
ers.  Nothing  now  was  left  them  in  their  desperation  but  to  sally 
forth  even  upon  the  knives  and  hatchets  of  their  merciless  and  ex 
pecting  foe  ;  and  for  this  last  adventure,  so  full  of  danger,  so  utterly 
wanting  in  a  fair  promise  of  any  successful  result,  the  sturdy  forest 
ers  prepared  themselves,  with  all  their  courage.  Fortunately  for 
this  movement,  it  was  just  about  this  period  that  the  approach  of 
Harrison,  with  his  party,  compelled  the  besiegers  to  change  their 
position,  in  order  the  better  to  contend  with  him  ;  and,  however 
reluctant  to  suffer  the  escape  of  those  so  completely  in  their  power, 
and  for  whose  destruction  they  had  already  made  so  many  sacri 
fices  of  time  and  life,  they  were  compelled  to  do  so  in  the  reason 
able  fear  of  an  assault  upon  two  sides — from  the  garrison  before 
them,  impelled  by  desperation,  and  from  the  foe  in  their  rear,  de 
scribed  by  their  scouts  as  in  rapid  advance  to  the  relief  of  the  Block 
House.  The  command  was  shared  jointly  between  Chorley  and 
Ishiagaska.  The  former  had  fared  much  worse  than  his  tawny 
allies  ;  for,  not  so  well  skilled  in  the  artifices  of  land  and  Indian 
warfare,  seven  out  of  the  twenty  warriors  whom  he  commanded  had 
fallen  victims  in  the  preceding  conflicts.  His  discretion  had  be 
come  something  more  valuable,  therefore,  when  reminded,  by  the 
scanty  force  remaining  under  his  command,  not  only  of  his  loss, 
but  of  his  present  weakness  ;  a  matter  of  no  little  concern,  as  he 


406  THE    YEMASSEE. 

well  knew  that  his  Indian  allies,  in  their  capricious  desperation, 
might  not  be  willing  to  discriminate  between  the  whites  who  had 
befriended,  and  those  who  had  been  their  foes. 

Thus  counselled  by  necessity,  the  assailing  chiefs  drew  off  theii 
forces  from  the  Block  House,  and,  sinking  into  cover,  prepared  to 
encounter  their  new  enemies,  after  the  fashion  of  their  warfare. 
Ignorant,  in  the  meantime,  of  the  approach  of  Harrison  or  the 
force  under  him,  Grayson  wondered  much  at  this  movement  of  the 
besiegers,  of  which  he  soon  had  intelligence,  and  instantly  pre 
pared  to  avail  himself  of  the  privilege  which  it  gave  to  the  garri 
son  of  flight.  He  called  his  little  force  together,  and  having  ar 
ranged,  before  leaving  its  shelter,  the  progress  and  general  move 
ment  of  his  party,  he  carefully  placed  the  women  and  children  in 
the  centre  of  his  little  troop,  sallied  boldly  forth  into  the  woods, 
conscious  of  all  the  dangers  of  the  movement,  but  strengthened 
with  all  those  thoughts  of  lofty  cheer  with  which  the  good  Provi 
dence,  at  all  times,  inspires  the  spirit  of  adventure,  in  the  hour  of 
its  trying  circumstance.  There  was  something  of  pleasure  in  their 
very  release  from  the  confined  circuit  of  the  Block  House,  though 
now  more  immediately  exposed  to  the  tomahawk  of  the  Indian ; 
and  with  the  pure  air,  and  the  absence  of  restraint,  the  greater 
number  of  the  foresters  grew  even  cheerful  and  glad — a.  change* of 
mood  in  which  even  the  women  largely  partook.  Some  few  in  deed 
of  the  more  Puritanical  among  them,  disposed  to  think  themselves 
the  especial  charge  of  the  Deity,  and  holding  him  not  less  willing 
than  strong  to  save,  under  any  circumstances,  even  went  so  far  as 
to  break  out  into  a  hymn  of  exultation  and  rejoicing,  entirely  for 
getting  the  dangers  still  hanging  around  them,  and  absolutely  con 
tending  warmly  with  Grayson  when  he  undertook  to  restrain  them. 
Not  the  least  refractory  of  these  was  his  own  mother,  who,  in  spite 
of  all  he  could  say,  mouthed  and  muttered  continually,  and  3very 
now  and  then  burst  forth  into  starts  of  irrepressible  psalmody,  suf 
ficient  to  set  the  entire  tribe  of  Indian;  unerringly  upon  their  track. 
The  remonstrance  of  Grayson  had  little  effect,  except  when  he  re 
minded  her  of  his  younger  brother.  The  idolized  Hugh,  and  hia 
will,  were  her  law  in  most  things.  Appealing  to  his  authority  and 
threatening  complaint  to  him,  he  succeeded  in  making  her  silent — 


THE   YEMASSEE.  407 

at  least  to  a  certain  extent.  Entire  silence  was  scarcely  possible 
with  the  old  dame,  who  likened  her  escape  from  the  flaming  Block 
House,  and,  so  far,  from  the  hands  of  the  savage,  to  every  instance 
of  Providential  deliverance  she  had  ever  read  of  in  the  sacred  vo 
lume;  and  still,  under  the  stimulus  of  such  a  feeling,  broke  out 
every  now  and  then,  with  sonorous  emphasis,  into  song,  from  an 
old  collection  of  the  period,  every  atom  of  which  she  had  fami 
liarly  at  the  end  of  her  tongue.  A  moment  had  not  well  elapsed 
after  the  first  suggestion  of  Grayson,  when,  as  if  unconsciously, 
she  commenced  again  : — 

" '  The  Lord  doth  fight  the  foe  for  us, 
And  smite  the  heathen  down.' " 

"  Now,  mother,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  can't  you  be 
quiet?" 

"  And  wherefore  should  we  not  send  up  the  hymn  of  rejoicing 
and  thanksgiving  for  all  his  mercies,  to  the  Father  who  has  stood 
beside  us  in  the  hour  of  peril  ?  Wherefore,  I  ask  of  you,  Walter 
Grayson  ?  Oh,  my  son,  beware  of  self-conceit  and  pride  of  heart ; 
and  because  you  have  here  commanded  earthly  and  human  wea 
pons,  think  not,  in  the  vanity  of  your  spirit,  that  the  victory  comes 
from  such  as  these.  The  Saviour  of  men,  my  son — it  is  he  that  has 
fought  this  fight.  It  is  his  sword  that  has  smitten  the  savage  hip 
and  thigh,  and  brought  us  free  out  of  the  land  of  bondage,  even 
as  he  brought  his  people  of  old  from  the  bondage  of  the  Egyp 
tians.  He  is  mighty  to  save,  and  therefore  should  we  rejoice  with 
an  exceeding  strong  voice." 

And  as  if  determined  to  sustain  by  her  own  example,  the  proceed 
ing  which  she  counselled,  her  lungs  were  tasked  to  the  uttermost, 
hi  proclaiming1 — 

"'The  Lord  he  comes  with  mighty  power, 
The  army  of  the  saints  is  there — 
He  speaks — "' 

"For  Ileavvii's  sake,  mother — hush  your  tongue — if  it  be  in 
you  to  keep  it  quiet  for  a  moment.  Let  it  rest  only  for  a  little 
while,  or  we  shall  all  be  scalped.  Wait  till  daylight,  and  you  maj 


408  THE    YEMASSEB. 

then  sing  to  your  heart's  content.  It  can't  be  long  till  daylight, 
anu  you  can  then  begin,  but  not  till  then,  or  V,Q  shall  have  the 
savages  on  our  track,  and  nothing  can  save  us." 

"  Oh  !  thou  of  little  faith— I  tell  thee,  Walter,  thou  hast  read 
but  too  little  of  thy  Bible,  and  dependest  too  much  upon  the 
powers  of  earth — all  of  which  are  wicked  and  vain  defences.  Put 
thy  trust  in  God  ;  he  is  strong  to  save.  Under  his  hand  I  fear  not 
thfi  savage — for,  does  he  not  tell  us — "  and  she  quavered  again : — 

"  '  Unfold  thine  eye  and  see  me  here, 

I  do  the  battle  for  the  just, 
My  people  nothing  have  to  fear — ' " 

"  Mother,  in  the  name  of  common  sense."  But  she  went  on 
with  double  fervour,  as  if  furious  with  the  interruption : — 

"  '  If  faithful  in  my  word — ' " 

rt  Mother,  mother,  I  say — "  But  she  was  bent  seemingly  tc 
finish  the  line : — 

"  * they  trust,' w 

"  Was  there  ever  such  an  obstinate !     I  say,  mother — " 

"  Well,  my  son  ?" 

"  Are  you  my  mother  ?" 

"Of  a  certainty,  I  am.  What  mean  you  by  that  question; 
Walter?" 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  my  scalp  dangling  upon  the  long  pole  of  a 
savage  ?" 

"  God  forbid,  Walter,  my  son.  Did  I  not  bear  thee — did  I  not 
suffer  for  thee  ?" 

"  Then,  if  you  do  not  really  desire  to  see  me  scalped,  put  some 
stop  on  your  tongue,  and  move  along  as  if  death  lay  under  every 
footstep.  If  the  savages  surround  us  now,  we  are  gone,  every 
mother's  son  of  us — and  all  the  saints,  unless  they  are  accustomed 
to  Indian  warfare,  can  do  nothing  in  our  behalf." 

"  Speak  not  -irreverently,  son  Walter.  The  saints  are  blessed 
mediators  for  the  sinner,  and  may  move  eternal  mercy  to  save, 
Have  they  not  fought  for  us  already  to-night — and  are  we  not 
saved  by  their  ministry  from  the  bloody  hands  of  the  savage  ?" 


THE    YEMASSEE.  409 

uNo — it's  by  our  own  hands,  and  our  own  good  handiwork, 
mother.  I  owe  the  saints  no  thanks,  and  shall  owe  you  still  less, 
unless  you  stop  that  howling." 

"  Oh,  Father,  forgive  him,  he  knows  not  what  he  says — he  is  yet 
in  the  bondage  of  sin — "  and  she  hymned  her  prayer  from  her 
collection : — 

"  '  Strike  not  the  sinner  in  his  youth, 
But  bear  him  in  thy  mercy  on, 
'Till  in  the  path  of  sacred  truth, 
He  sees—' " 

"  Mother,  if  you  do  not  hush  up,  I  will  tell  Hugh  of  your  obstinacy. 
He  shall  know  how  little  you  mind  his  counsel." 

"  Well,  well,  Walter,  my  son,  I  am  done.  Thou  art  too  hasty, 
I'm  sure. — Oh,  bless  me — " 

Her  speech  was  cut  short  by  a  sudden  and  fierce  who  jp  of  the 
Indians,  followed  by  the  huzzas  of  the  whites  at  a  greater  distance, 
and  the  rapid  fire  of  musketry,  scattered  widely  along  the  whole 
extended  range  of  forest  around  them. 

"Down,  down,  all  of  you,  on  your  knees — one  and  all — "  was 
the  cry  of  Grayson  to  his  party ;  and,  accustomed  to  most  of  the 
leading  difficulties  and  dangers  of  such  a  fight,  the  order  was 
obeyed,  as  if  instinctively,  by  all  except  Dame  Grayson,  who  inflexibly 
maintained  her  position,  and  refused  to  move,  alleging  her  objection 
to  any  prostration  except  for  the  purposes  of  prayer.  Maddened  by 
her  obstinacy,  Grayson,  with  very  little  scruple,  placing  his  hand 
upon  her  shoulder,  bore  her  down  to  the  earth,  exclaiming, — 

"  Then  say  your  prayers,  mother — do  any  thing  but  thwart  what 
you  cannot  mend." 

Thus  humbled,  the  party  crept  along  more  closely  into  cover, 
until,  at  a  spot  where  the  trees  were  clustered  along  with  under 
wood  into  something  like  a  copse,  Grayson  ordered  a  halt,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  arrange  his  men  and  their  weapons  for  active  conflict. 
The  war  approached  at  intervals,  and  an  occasional  shot  whistled 
over  the  heads  of  the  party,  conclusively  proving  the  necessity  of 
their  position.  The  Indians  seemed  to  lie  betwixt  them  and  the 
advancing  Carolinians  ;  and  perceiving  this  tr  be  the  case,  Grayson 
threw  the  non-combatants  under  shelter  in  aiidb  a  manner  as  to 

18 


THE    YEMASSEE. 

those  who  could  fight  in  the  way  of  the  coming  red  men, 
in  the  event  of  their  being  driven  back  upon  them.  His  party,  in 
the  meanwhile,  well  prepared,  lay  quietly  under  cover,  and  with 
their  weapons  ready  to  take  advantage  of  any  such  event. 

Harrison,  as  we  may  remember,  had  taken  the  command  of  the 
greater  body  of  the  force  which  had  been  brought  up  througn  the 
industrious  and  prodigious  exertions  of  Hugh  Grayson.  This 
young  man,  stung  and  mortified  as  he  had  been  by  the  rebuke  of 
Bess  Matthews,  with  a  degree  of  mental  concentration,  rather 
indicative  of  his  character — though  hopeless  of  those  affections, 
which  of  all  other  human  hopes  he  had  most  valued — had  de 
termined  to  do  himself  justice  by  doing  his  duty.  Throwing 
aside,  therefore,  as  well  as  he  might,  the  passionate  mood  which 
was  active  in  his  soul,  he  had  gone  forth  from  the  house  of  the 
pastor,  resolute  to  make  every  exertion  in  procuring  a  force  which 
might  protect  the  family  from  an  attack,  which  he  had  at  length 
learned,  as  well  as  Harrison,  greatly  to  apprehend.  His  pride  sug 
gested  to  him  the  gratification  of  saving  the  life  of  her  who  had 
scorned  him,  as  an  honourable  revenge,  not  less  than  a  fair  blotting 
out  of  those  errors  of  which,  on  her  account,  he  had  suffered  him 
self  to  be  guilty.  His  efforts,  so  far,  had  been  crowned  with 
success ;  but  he  had  come  too  late  for  his  prime  object.  The 
dwelling  of  the  pastor  had  been  sacked  before  his  arrival,  and,  like 
Harrison,  he  was  under  the  most  horrible  apprehensions  for  her 
safety.  The  latter  person  came  upon  him  opportunely,  in  time  to 
keep  him  from  falling  into  the  ambuscade  through  which  he  had 
himself  so  singularly  passed  in  safety — and  with  more  knowledge 
of  Indian  strife,  Harrison  took  the  command  of  a  party  which  con 
fided  fully  to  his  skill,  and,  of  necessity,  with  a  courage  heightened 
proportionably  when  under  his  direction. 

The  cautious  yet  bold  management  of  Harrison  soon  gave  him 
the  advantage.  The  foresters,  guided  by  him,  each  took  his  tree 
after  the  manner  of  the  Indians,  and  with  the  advantage  of  weapon? 
more  certain  to  kill,  and  equally,  if  not  more  certain,  in  airr 
Apart  from  this,  the  Carolinian  woodman  knew  enough  of  bi^ 
sav;ige$  to  know  that  they  were  no  opponents,  generally  speaking 
to  be  feared  in  a  trial  of  respective  muscular  strength.  The  life  of 


THE    YEMASSEE.  411 

tha  hunter  fits  him  to  endure  rather  than  to  contend.  The  white 
borderer  was  taught  by  his  necessities  to  do  both.  He  could 
wield  the  axe  and  overthrow  the  tree — a  labour  to  which  the 
Indian  is  averse.  He  could  delve  and  dig,  and  such  employment 
was  a  subject  of  scorn  and  contempt  with  the  haughty  aboriginal 
warrior.  At  the  same  time,  he  practised  the  same  wanderings 
and  the  same  felicity  of  aim,  and  in  enduring  the  toils  of  the  chase, 
he  was  fairly  the  equal  of  his  tawny  but  less  enterprising  neigh 
bour.  The  consciousness  of  these  truths — a  consciousness  soon 
acquired  from  association  — was  not  less  familiar  to  the  Indian 
than  to  the  Carolinian  ;  and  the  former,  in  consequence,  despaired 
of  success  usually  when  required  to  oppose  the  white  man  hand  to 
hand.  His  hope  was  in  the  midnight  surprise — in  the  sudden 
onslaught — in  the  terror  inspired  by  his  fearful  whoop — and  in  the 
awful  scalp-song  with  which  he  approached,  making  the  imagina 
tion  of  his  foe  an  auxiliar  to  his  own,  as  he  told  him  how  he 
should  rend  away  the  dripping  locks  from  his  skull,  while  his  eyes 
swam  in  darkness,  and  the  pulses  were  yet  flickering  at  his  heart. 

From  cover  to  cover — from  tree  to  tree — the  individual  Caroli 
nians  rushed  on  against  their  retreating  enemies.  In  this  manner 
the  fight  became  somewhat  pell-mell,  and  the  opponents  grew 
strangely  mingled  together.  Still,  as  each  was  busy  with  his 
particular  enemy,  no  advantage  could  well  be  taken  of  the  circum 
stance  on  either  side  ;  and  the  hatchets  of  the  individual  combatants 
clashed  under  neighbouring  trees,  and  their  knives  were  uplifted 
in  the  death-struggle  over  the  same  stump,  without  any  hope  of 
assistance  from  their  friends  in  any  form  of  their  difficulty. 

In  this  general  state  of  things,  there  was  one  exception  in  the 
case  of  Harrison  himself.  He  was  approached  resolutely  in  the 
course  of  the  conflict  by  a  Coosaw  warrior — a  man  of  inferior  size, 
even  with  his  tribe,  the  individuals  of  .which  were  generally 
diminutive.  The  dark  eye  of  the  swarthy  foe,  as  he  advanced 
upon  Harrison,  was  lighted  up  with  a  malignant  audacity,  to  be 
understood  only  by  a  reference  to  the  history  of  his  people.  That 
people  were  now  almost  exterminated.  He  was  one  of  the  few 
survivors — a  chief — a  bold,  brave  man — subtle,  active,  and  distin 
guished  for  his  skill  as  a  warrior  and  hunter.  He  recognised  in 


i!2  THE   YEMASSEE. 


the  renowned  Coosah-moray-te  —  the  leader  of  the  force 
which  had  uprooted  his  nation,  and  had  driven  his  warriors  to  the 
degrading  necessity  of  merging  their  existence  as  a  people  with 
that  of  a  neighbouring  tribe.  The  old  feeling  of  his  country,  and 
a  former  war,  was  at  work  iu  his  bosom,  and  through  all  the  mazes 
of  the  conflict  he  steadily  kept  his  eye  on  the  course  of  Harrison. 
He  alone  sought  him  —  he  alone  singled  him  out  for  the  fight. 
For  a  long  time,  the  nature  of  the  struggle  had  prevented  their 
meeting  ;  but  he  now  approached  the  spot  where  Harrison  stood, 
holding  at  bay  a  tall  Chestatee  warrior  from  the  interior  of 
Georgia.  The  Chestatee  was  armed  with  the  common  war-club, 
and  had  no  other  weapon.  This  weapon  is  chiefly  useful  when 
confusion  has  been  introduced  by  the  bowmen  into  the  ranks  of  an 
enemy.  It  is  about  two  feet  in  length,  and  bears  at  its  end,  and 
sometimes  at  both  ends,  a  cross-piece  of  iron,  usually  without  any 
.listinct  form,  but  sometimes  resembling  the  blade  of  a  spear,  and 
sot  unfrequently  that  of  a  hatchet.  Harrison  was  armed  with  a 
tword,  and  had  besides,  in  his  possession,  the  knife  —  the  same 
broad,  cimeter-like  weapon  —  which  had  been  given  him  by  Matiwan 
ia  his  flight  from  Pocota-ligo.  His  rifle,  which  he  had  not  had 
time  to  reload,  leaned  against  a  tree,  at  the  foot  of  which  stood 
Hector,  with  difficulty  restraining,  and  keeping  back,  with  all  h.s 
might,  the  impatient  dog  Dugdale,  which,  by  his  master's  orders, 
he  had  re-muzzled.  This  had  been  done  in  order  to  his  safety, 
It  was  only  in  pursuit  that  his  services  would  have  been  of  avail  , 
for  though  he  might  be  of  use  in  the  moment  of  strife,  the  chances 
were  that  he  would  have  been  shot.  Thus  reposing,  Hector  WPS 
enabled  to  see  the  approach  of  the  Coosaw,  and  by  an  occasional 
exhibition  of  his  own  person  and  that  of  the  dog,  to  deter  him 
from  the  attack  which  he  had  long  meditated.  But  the  strife 
between  Harrison  and  the  Chestatee  was  about  to  cease.  That 
warrior,  aiming  a  fierce  blow  at  the  person  of  his  enemy,  drove  the 
spear-head  of  his  club  into  the  tree,  and  failing  'at  the  moment  to 
disengage  it,  fell  a  victim  to  the  quicksightedness  of  his  opponent. 
Harrison's  sword  in  that  instant  was  sheathed  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Chestatee,  who,  as  he  received  the  wound,  sprang  upwards  from 
the  ground,  snapping  the  slender  weapon  short  at  the  hilt,  the 


THE    YEMASSEE.  41.6 

blade  stiL.  remaining  buried  in  his  body.  Harrison  drew  his  knife, 
and  having  for  some  time  seen  the  purpose  of  the  Coosaw,  he 
fortunately  turned  to  meet  him  at  the  very  instant  of  his  approach. 
Something  surprised  at  the  fearlessness  with  which  his  enemy 
advanced  to  the  conflict,  he  spoke  to  him,  as  they  both  paused  at 
a  few  paces  from  each  other. 

"  Thou  art  a  Coosaw," — exclaimed  Harrison, — "  I  know  thee." 

"  Chinnabee  is  the  last  chief  of  the  Coosaw.  He  wants  blood 
for  his  people." 

"  Thou  knowest  me,  then  T*  said  Harrison. 

"  Coosah-moray-te  /"  was  the  simple  response  ;  and  the  dark  eye 
glared,  and  the  teeth  of  the  savage  gnashed  like  those  ot  the  hun 
gered  wolf,  as  the  name  stirred  up  all  the  recollections  in  his  mind, 
of  that  war  of  extermination  which  the  warrior  before  him  had 
waged  against  his  people. 

"  Ay — the  Coosah-moray-te  is  before  thee.  Would  Chinnabee  fol 
low  his  people  ?"  exclaimed  the  Englishman. 

"Chinnabee  would  have  much  blood  for  his  people.  He  would 
drink  blood  from  the  skull  of  Coosah-moray-te — he  would  show  the 
scalp  of  the  Coosah-moray-te  to  the  warriors  of  Coosaw,  that  wait 
for  him  in  the  Happy  Valle)." 

"  Thou  shalt  have  no  scalp  ot  mine,  friend  Chinnabee.  I'm 
sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  must — I  can't  spare  it.  Come !  I 
knew  you  of  old  for  a  cunning  snake — a  snake  lying  in  the  dried 
bush.  The  foot  of  the  Coosah-moray-te  will  trample  on  thy 
head." 

Harrison  spoke  fearlessly,  for  who,  contrasting  the  appearance  of 
the  two,  would  have  thought  the  contest  doubtful  ?  The  Indian 
was  scarcely  over  five  feet  in  height,  slender,  and  riot  well  set ; 
while  his  opponent,  fully  six  feet  in  height,  a  fine  specimen  of  sym 
metrical  manhood,  seemed  able  to  crush  him  with  a  finger.  The 
Coosaw  simply  responded  with  something  like  a  smile  of  scorn, — 
throwing  himself  at  the  same  moment  like  a  ball  at  the  feet  of  hia 
enemy — 

"  Good  ! — the  snake  is  in  the  bush.  Look  !  Coosah-moray-te—* 
put  the  foot  on  his  head." 

The  Englishman  locked  down  upon  him  with  something  of  sur 


, 

j:14:  THE    YEMAS3EE. 

prise  mingled  in  with  his  contempt,  and  made  no  show  of  assault ; 
but  he  was  too  well  acquainted  with  Indian  trick  and  manoeuvre 
to  be  thrown  off  his  guard  by  this  movement.  Curious  to  see  what 
would  be  the  next  effort  of  one  who  had  studiously  singled  him 
out,  he  watched  him  carefully,  and  the  Indian,  something  balked 
that  the  enemy  had  not  taken  him  at  his  word  and  approached 
him  while  in  his  prostrate  condition,  slowly  uncoiled  himself  from 
his  fold,  and  had  partially  regained  his  feet,  when  Harrison,  who  had 
been  looking  for  him  fully  to  do  so,  was  surprised  in  the  next  moment 
to  find  his  wily  enemy  directly  between  his  legs.  The  suddenness 
of  such  a  movement,  though  it  failed  to  throw  him,  as  the  Coosaw 
had  calculated,  yet  disordered  his  position  not  a  little  ;  and  before 
he  could  strike  a  blow,  or  do  more  than  thrust  one  of  his  feet  down 
upon  him,  his  active  adversary  had  passed  from  his  reach,  having 
made  a  desperate  effort  with  his  knife  to  hamstring  his  adversary, 
as  he  leaped  aside  and  turned  suddenly  upon  him.  The  rapidity 
of  Harrison's  movement  alone  saved  him,  though,  even  then,  not 
entirely,  since  the  knife  grazed  his  leg,  inflicting  a  sharp,  though 
not  dangerous  wound.  He  barely  turned  in  time  to  meet  the  pre 
parations  of  the  Coosaw  for  a  second  assault  of  similar  character 
and  something  more  read'  at  this  novel  mode  of  attack,  and  vexe*. 
at  its  partial  success.  T  prison  looked  with  some  impatience  for  Li., 
enemy's  approacl  and  felt  a  thrill  of  fierce  delight  as  he  saw  hin, 
leave  with  s  cund  the  spot  upon  which  he  stood.  Sinking  upo* 
his  knee  ns  the  savage  rolled  towards  him,  he  presented  his  knife, 
edfifr-  jp  wards,  to  his  advance.  What  was  his  surprise  to  find  that 
in  so  stooping,  he  had  only  evaded  a  blow  upon  his  bosom, 
which,  from  his  position,  and  the  direction  which  the  Indian 
pursued,  had  he  stood,  the  heels  of  his  foe  would  certainly  have 
inflicted. 

He  saw  from  this  that  he  must  now  become  the  assailant ;  par 
ticularly  as  he  perceived  that  his  men  were  successfully  pressing 
upon  the  enemy  in  every  direction,  and  that  the  battle  was  pro 
gressing  towards  the  river,  and  between  it  and  the  Block  House. 
Active  as  most  men,  Harrison  was  also  a  man  of  ready  decision ; 
and  with  the  thought  came  the  execution.  With  a  bound  he  grap 
pled  the  Coosaw,  who  had  not  looked  for  an  attack  so  sudden,  and 


4 

x^ 

THE    YEMASSEE.  ^ 

no  doubt  had  been  fatigued  by  previous  efforts.  Harris^?06  am' 
him  back  against  a  tree  with  all  the  muscle  of  an  extended  aluet 
and  thus  forced  the  combat  upon  him  on  his  own  terms.  But 
even  then  the  subtlety  of  the  savage  did  not  fail  him.  He  evaded 
the  grasp,  and  contrived  to  double  once  or  twice  completely  under 
the  body  of  his  opponent,  until,  exasperated  by  his  pertinacity  not 
less  than  at  the  agility  with  which  the  Indian  eluded  him,  without 
stooping  to  where  he  wriggled  like  a  snake  around  him,  the  Eng 
lishman  leaped  upon  him  with  both  feet,  striking  his  heel  securely 
down  upon  the  narrow  of  his  sinuous  back,  and  in  this  way  fasten 
ing  him  to  the  earth.  In  another  instant  and  the  knife  would  have 
finished  the  combat,  when  the  conqueror  received  a  severe  blow 
with  a  club,  upon  his  shoulder,  from  some  unseen  hand,  which  com 
pletely  staggered  him  ;  and  before  he  could  recover,  he  was  con 
fronted  by  another  warrior  of  the  Coosaws,  crying  to  him  in  his 
own  language  in  the  exultation  of  success  deemed  secure,  and  thus 
cheering  his  prostrate  chief,  Chinnabee — 

"  Coosah-moray  -te, — I  drink  his  blood,  1  tear  his  throat,  I  have 
his  scalp — i  hear  his  groan — Hi-chai ! — 'tis  a  dog  for  Opitchi- 
Manneyto !" 

At  the  cry,  his  former  opponent  rose  from  the  ground,  not  so 
much  injured  but  that  he  could  recommence  the  battle.  They  ad 
vanced  at  the  same  moment  upon  the  Englishman,  though  from 
different  quarters.  They  came  upon  him  with  all  their  subtlety 
and  caution,  for  the  two  together  could  scarce  have  contended  with 
the  superior  strength  of  Harrison.  Taking  his  tree,  he  prepared 
for  the  worst ;  and  with  his  left  arm  so  severely  paralysed  by  the 
blow  that  he  could  do  little  more  than  throw  it  up  in  defence,  he 
yet  held  a  good  heart,  and  while  he  saw  with  what  malignity  the 
two  Coosaws  had  singled  him  out,  he  had  hope  to  meet  them  indi 
vidually  by  the  exercise  of  some  of  those  adroit  arts  which  he  too 
could  employ  not  less  than  the  savage.  But  he  was  spared  this 
trial.  The  very  instant  of  their  simultaneous  approach,  a  gun-shot 
from  tli-e  rear  brought  down  the  second  assailant.  The  survivor, 
Chinnabee,  as  if  exasperated  beyond  reason  at  the  event,  now  pre 
cipitated  himself  forward,  tomahawk  in  hand,  upon  his  foe;  waa 
foiled  by  the  ready  ability  whict  ncountered  him,  put  aside,  and 


110 

*      1  A  THE    YEMASSEE. 


ri  e  mi*1"1  ^e  same  infant  hurled  like  a  stone  to  the  ground  by 
i  ]t  ^  now  fully  aroused  Englishman. 

"  Coosaw — thou  art  the  last  chief  of  thy  people.  The  cunning 
serpent  will  die  by  the  Coosah-inoray-te,  like  the  rest,"  said  Har 
rison,  addressing  the  conquered  savage,  who  lay  motionless,  but 
still  alive,  at  his  feet. 

"  The  Coosah-moray-te  will  strike.  Chinnabee  is  the  last  chief 
of  the  Coosaw — his  people  have  gone — they  wait  for  him  with 
the  cry  of  a  bird.  Let  the  pale-face  strike.  Ah  !  ha  !" 

The  knife  was  in  his  heart.  Vainly  the  eyes  rolled  in  a  fruit 
less  anger — the  teeth  fixed  for  ever,  while  gnashing  in  fury,  in  the 
death  spasm.  A  short  groan — a  word,  seemingly  of  song — and 
the  race  of  the  Coosaws  was  for, ever  ended. 

Harrison  rose  and  looked  round  for  the  person  whose  timely  shot 
had  saved  him  from  the  joint  attack  of  the  two  warriors.  He 
discovered  him  advancing  in  the  person  of  Hector,  who,  having 
fastened  Dugdale  to  a  sapling,  had  reloaded  the  musketoon  of  his 
master,  and  by  his  intervention  at  the  proper  moment,  had  no 
doubt  preserved  his  life.  Unaccustomed,  however,  to  the  use  of 
gunpowder,  the  black  had  overcharged  *he  piece,  and  the  recoil 
aad  given  him  a  shock  which,  at  the  moment,  he  was  certain  could 
not  have  been  a  jot  less  severe  than  that  which  it  inflicted  upon 
the  Coosaw  he  had  slain.  His  jaws  ached,  he  bitterly  alleged, 
whenever,  years  after,  he  detailed  the  fight  with  the  Yemassee  on 
the  banks  of  the  Pocota-ligo. 

"  Hector — thou  hast  saved  my  life,"  said  Harrison,  as  he  came 
up  to  him. 

"  I  berry  glad,  maussa,"  was  the  natural  reply. 

"  Where's*Dugdale  ?" 

•   •'  In  de  tree — I  hook  'em  wid  rope,  when  I  load  for  shoot  de 
Injiri." 

"  Bring  him,  and  set  him  loose." 

The  black  did  as  he  was  told,  and  harking  him  on  the  track  of 
the  flying  Indians,  Harrison  seized  and  reloaded  his  rifle,  while 
Hector  possessed  himself  of  a  knife  and  hatchet  which  he  picked 
up  upon  the  field.  They  then  proceeded  hastily  to  overtake  the 
Carolinians,  who,  at  a  little  distance,  were  pressing  upon  the  retreat- 


4 

THE    YEMASSEE.  4i'i 

ing  enemy.  Harrison  came  in  time  to  give  his  influence  ami 
energy  where  they  were  most  needed.  The  flying  force  was  met 
and  strengthened  by  the  party  from  the  Block  House,  under  Ishia 
gaska  and  the  pirate,  and  the  fight  commenced  anew — a  sort  of 
running  fight,  however,  for  the  Indians  grew  weary  of  a  contest  in 
which  they  had  mne  of  those  advantages  of  number  or  circum 
stance  which  usual.y  encourage  them  to  war ;  and  so  trifling  was 
the  force  of  whites  now  remaining  with  them  under  Chorley,  that 
their  presence  rather  induced  despondency  than  hope.  The  pirate 
himself  was  much  discouraged  by  the  nature  of  the  strife,  for  which 
he  did  not  dream  that  the  Carolinians  would  have  been  so  well 
prepared  ;  and  the  loss  which  he  had  sustained,  so  disproportioned 
to  his  force,  had  not  a  little  exaggerated  his  discontent.  His  dis 
quiet  was  destined  to  find  still  further  increase  in  the  new  assault; 
two  more  of  his  men,  not  so  well  sheltered  as  they  should  have 
been,  or  more  venturous,  having  been  shot  down  near  a  tree  imme 
diately  adjoining  that  behind  which  he  stood ;  and,  though  the 
Indians  still  continued  to  fight,  he  saw  that  they  could  not  be  en 
couraged  to  do  so  long  ;  as,  even  if  successful  in  killing,  they  had 
no  opportunity  of  obtaining  the  scalps  of  the  slain,  the  best  evi 
dence  with  them  of  their  triumph.  The  Carolinians  still  pressed 
on,  their  numbers  greatly  increased  by  the  pre^nce  of  several 
slaves,  who,  volunteering  even  against  the  will  of  tWr  masters,  had 
armed  themselves  with  knives  or  clubs,  and,  by  theTr  greater  num 
bers,  held  forth  a  prospect  of  ultimately  hemming  in  the  smaller  force 
of  their  enemy.  This  was  an  ally  upon  which  the  Spaniards  had 
largely  counted.  They  had  no  idea  of  that  gentler  form  of 
treatment  which,  with  the  Carolinians,  won  the  affections  of  their 
servilus  ;  and,  knowing  no  other  principle  in  their  own  domestic 
government  than  that  of  fear,  and  assured  of  the  instability  of  any 
confidence  built  upon  such  a  relationship  between  the  ruler  arid 
the  serf,  they  had  miscalculated  greatly  when  they  addressed  their 
bribes  and  promises  to  the  negroes,  as  well  as  to  the  Indians  of 
Carolina.  But  few  joined  them — the  greater  numl*er,  volunteer 
ing  for  their  owners,  were  taken  actually  into  the  employment  of 
the  colony,  and  subsequently  rewarded  in  proportk  a  to  their  ser 
vices  and  merits. 

18* 


412 Atn 

,418  THE   YEMASSEE. 

P 

The  engagement  became  a  flight.      From  point  to  point  the 

Carolinians  pursued  their  enemy — Chorley  the  seaman,  and  Ishia- 
gaska,  alone  endeavouring,  by  the  most  ardent  effort,  to  stimulate 
the  courage  of  their  followers,  and  maintain  a  show  of  fight.  But 
in  vain.  The  whites  pressed  closely  upon  the  heels  of  the  fugitives, 
who  were  at  length  suddenly  brought  up  by  a  severe  fire,  directly 
upon  their  path,  from  the  concealed  party  under  Grayson.  This 
completed  their  name ;  and  each  darting  in  the  direction  given 
him  by  his  fears,  sought  for  individual  safety.  There  was  no  longer 
the  form  of  a  battle  array  among  them,  and  the  negroes  cleared  the 
woods  with  their  clubs,  beating  out  the  brains  of  those  whom  they 
overtook,  almost  without  having  any  resistance  offered  them.  The 
day  dawned  upon  the  forest,  and  every  step  of  the  route  taken  by 
thb  combatants  was  designated  by  blood. 


4 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

"  Away,  away, — I  hold  thee  as  my  spoil, 
To  bless  and  cheer  me — worthy  of  my  toil — 
Let  them  pursue — I  have  thee,  thou  art  mine, 
With  life  to  keep,  aud  but  with  life  resign." 

THE  night  of  storm  bad  been  one  of  great  brightness  and  natu 
ral  beauty.  Not  less  beautiful  and  bright  was  the  day  by  which 
it  was  followed.  The  sun  rose  clearly  and  beautifully  over  the 
scattered  bands  of  the  forest.  The  Indians  were  fairly  defeated, 
Ishiagaska  slain,  and  Chorley,  the  pirate,  uninfluenced  by  any  of 
those  feelings  of  nationality  which  governed  the  native  red  men, 
which  would  have  prompted  him  to  a  desperate  risk  of  his  own 
person  in  a  struggle  so  utterly  unlooked-for,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the 
final  and  complete  character  of  the  defeat,  silently  withdrew,  with 
his  few  remaining  followers,  from  farther  conflict.  He  had  anothei 
care  upon  his  hands  besides  that  of  his  own  safety.  There  was 
one  reward — one  spoil — with  which  he  consoled  himself  for  his 
disaster — and  that  was  Bess  Matthews.  She  was  in  his  power  ! 

Filled  with  fierce  passion,  as  he  thought  of  her,  he  took  his  way, 
inseen  by  the  victorious  Carolinians,  towards  the  little  cot  on  the 
•iver's  edge,  in  which  he  had  left  his  prisoners.  Circumstances 
bad  materially  altered  from  what  they  were  at  the  time  when  they 
became  so.  He  was  no  longer  able  to  control,  with  an  imposing 
and  superior  force,  the  progress,  either  of  his  Indian  allies  or  of  his 
Carolinian  enemies.  He  had  not  foreseen,  any  more  than  the  Yemas- 
sees,  the  state  of  preparation  in  which  the  settlers  about  the  Poco- 
ta-ligo  had  met  the  invasion.  He  had  looked  to  find  invasion  and 
conquest  one — and  had  never  dreamed  of  opposition,  much  less  of 
a  defence  which  would  prove  so  completely  successful.  The  ener 
gies  of  a  single  man,  his  address,  farsightedness,  and  circumspec- 
t'on,  had  done  all  this.  To  the  perseverance  and  prudence  of  Har- 
"ison — his  devoted  ness  to  the  cause  he  had  undertaken — thi 


412, 

420  THE    YEMASSEE. 

borderers  owed  their  safety.  But  of  th.,3  the  pirate  chief  knew 
nothing  ;  and,  anticipating  no  such  provident  managementjie  had 
fearlessly  leagued  himself  with  the  savages,  stimulated  by  passions 
as  sanguinary  as  theirs,  and  without  that  redeeming  sense  of  na 
tional  character  and  feeling — that  genuine  love  of  country — which 
not  only  accounted  for,  but  exculpated  the  people  of  whom  he  was 
the  unworthy  ally.  But  he  had  lost  all  that  he  came  for — all 
objects  but  one.  His  best  followers  had  fallen  victims—  his  hop/} 
of  spoil  had  in  great  part  been  defeated,  and  though  he  had  shed 
blood,  the  quantity  was  as  nothing  to  one  with  whom  such  had 
been  a  familiar  indulgence.  Yet,  with  a  voluptuous  appetite,  he 
had  won  a  prize  which  promised  him  enjoyment,  if  it  could  not 
compensate  his  losses.  The  beautiful  Bess  ivlrUthews — the  young, 
the  budding,  the  sweet.  She  was  in  his  power — a  trembling  dove 
in  the  grasp  of  the  fowler.  The  thought  was  as  so  much  fire  to 
his  fancy,  and  he  sought  the  cottage  in  which  he  had  secured  her, 
with  a  fierce  and  feverish  thirst — a  brutal  sense  at  work  in  his 
mind — stimulating  him  to  an  utter  disregard  of  humanity,  and 
prompting  the  complete  violation  of  all  ties  of  kindred,  as  he 
meditated  to  tear  her  away  from  the  bosom  of  her  parents. 

About  a  mile  from  the  hovel  in  which  the  family  of  the  pastor 
was  immured  lay  the  guarda-costa.  There  was  an  air  of  bustle  on 
board  of  her,  in  the  unreefing  of  sails,  and  the  waving  and  rustling 
of  her  ropes.  The  tide  of  battle  had  alternated  from  spot  to  spot 
along  the  banks  of  the  river — now  lost  in  the  density  of  the  forest, 
and  now  swelling,  with  all  its  clamours,  along  the  bosom  of  the 
water.  The  firing  had  alarmed  all  parties,  the  seamen  remaining  on 
board,  not  less  than  the  old  pastor  and  his  timid  wife  and  trem 
bling  daughter,  who,  only  conscious  of  the  struggle,  and  not  of  its 
results,  were  filled  with  a  thousand  tearful  anticipations. 

To  Bess  Matthews,  however,  the  strife  brought  with  it  a  promise, 
since  it  proved  that  the  Carolinians  were  prepared,  in  part  at  least, 
for  their  invaders — and  many  were  the  fluctuations  of  hope  and 
fear  in  her  soul,  as  the  gathering  clamour  now  approached  arid 
now  receded  in  the  distance.  Love  taught  her  that  Harrison  was 
the  leader  making  such  bold  h<\'id  against  the  enemy.  Love  pro 
mised  her,  as  the  battle  dissipated,  that  he  would  come  and  rescue 


THE     YEMASSEE.  421 

her  from  a  position  in  which  she  did  not  well  know  whether  to 
regard  herself  as  a  captive  to  the  seaman,  or  as  one  owing  him 
gratitude  for  her  own  and  the  preservation  of  her  family.  She  re 
membered  his  lustful  eye,  and  insolent  speech  and  gesture,  and  sho 
trembled  as  she  thought  of  him  True,  her  father  knew  him  in  his 
boyhood,  but  his  account  of  him  was  rather  tolerant  than  favoura 
ble  ;  and  the  subsequent  life  and  conduct  of  the  licentious  rover — 
not  to  speak  of  the  suspicions  openly  entertained  of  his  true  cha 
racter  by  her  lover — all  taught  her  to  fear  the  protection  which  he 
had  given,  and  to  dread,  while  she  seemed  to  anticipate,  the  price 
of  it. 

She  had  no  long  time  for  doubt,  and  but  little  for  deliberation. 
He  came — bloody  with  conflict — covered  with  dust,  blackened 
with  gunpowder — the  fierce  flame  of  war  in  his  eye,  and  in  his 
hand  the  bared  weapon,  streaked  with  fresh  stains,  which  he  had 
only  in  part  wiped  away,  with  a  handful  of  moss  gathered  from  the 
trees.  There  was  nothing  encouraging  in  his  aspect — nothing 
now  of  conciliation  in  his  deportment.  Ilis  manner  was  impatient 
and  stern,  as,  without  addressing  either  of  his  captives,  he  called 
aside  and  gave  directions  to  his  seamen.  The  pastor  craved  his 
attention,  but  he  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  nor  turned  to  him 
for  an  instant,  until  he  had  despatched  two  of  his  men  to  the  edge 
of  the  stream,  where,  well  concealed  by  the  shrubbery  upon  its 
banks,  lay  the  small  boat  of  the  vessel,  which  had  been  carefully 
placed  there  by  his  orders.  They  gave  him  a  shrill  whistle  as  they 
reached  it,  which  he  immediately  returned — then  approaching  the 
pastor,  he  scrupled  not  an  instant  in  the  development  of  the  foul 
design  which  he  had  all  along  meditated. 

"  Hark  ye,  Matthews — this  is  no  place  for  us  now — I  can't  pro 
tect  ye  any  longer.  I  hav'n't  the  men — they  are  cut  up — slashed 
— dead — eleven  of  the  finest  fellows — best  men  of  my  vessel — by 
this  time,  without  a  scalp  among  them.  I  have  done  my  best  to 
save  you,  but  it'*  all  over,  and  there's  but  one  way — you  must  go 
with  us  on  board." 

"  How,  Chorley — go  M  ;th  you — and  wherefore  ?  I  cannot — I 
will  not." 

**  What,  will  not  ?     Oh     ho  !    Do  you  suppose  I  am  the  man  to 


422  THE    YEMASSEE. 

listen  to  such  an  answer  ?  No  !  no  !  I'll  take  care  of  you  whether 
you  will  or  no  !  Do  you  think  I'll  let  you  stay  to  lose  your  scalps, 
and  this  sweet  darling  here  ?  No,  by  my  soul,  I  were  no  man  tc 
.suffer  it.  You  shall  go." 

"  What  mean  you,  Chorley  ?  Are  the  savages  successful — have 
they  defeated  our  men  ?  And  you — wherefore  do  you  fly — how 
have  you  fought — with  us — for  our  people?" 

The  old  pastor,  half  bewildered,  urged  these  questions  incohe 
rently,  but  yet  with  su  ^h  directness  of  aim  as  almost  to  bewilder 
the  person  he  address*  d,  who  could  not  well  answer  them ;  even 
if  he  cared  to  do  so.  How,  as  the  pastor  argued  with  himself,— 
how,  if  the  Yemassees  have  defeated  the  Carolinians — how  was  it 
that  Chorley,  who  had  evidently  been  their  ally,  could  not  exert 
his  power  and  protect  them  ?  and,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  Caro 
linians  had  been  the  victors,  wherefore  should  he  and  his  family 
fly  from  their  own  people  ?  Unable  well  to  meet  these  proposi 
tions,  the  native  fierce  impetuosity  of  the  pirate  came  to  his  relief, 
and  throwing  aside  entirely  the  conciliatory  manner  of  his  first 
address,  he  proceeded  in  a  style  more  congenial  with  his  true  cha 
racter. 

u  Shall  I  stay  al '  day  disputing  with  you  about  this  nonsense  ? 
I  tell  you,  you  shall  go,  whether  you  will  or  not.  Look  you,  I 
have  the  power — look  at  these  men — can  you  withstand  them  ? 
In  a  word,  they  force  you  to  the  ship,  and  all  your  talking — ay, 
and  all  your  struggling — will  help  you  nothing.  Come — away." 

"  Never — never  !  Oh  !  father,  let  us  die  first !"  was  the  invo 
luntary  exclamation  of  the  maiden,  convulsively  clinging  to  the  old 
man's  -arm  as  the  ruffian  took  a  step  towards  her. 

"  Captain  Chorley,  I  cannot  think  you  mean  this  violence  !"  said 
the  old  man  with  dignity. 

"  May  I  be  d — d,"  said  he  fiercely,  "  but  I  do !  Violence,  in 
deed  !  violence  is  my  life, — my  business  !  What,  old  man,  shall 
I  leave  you  here  to  be  made  mincemeat  of  by  the  Indians  ?  No, 
no  !  I  love  you  and  your  pretty  daughter  too  well  for  that.  Come, 
sweetheart,  don't  be  shy — what !  do  you  fear  me  then  ?" 

"  Touch  me  not — touch  me  not  with  your  bloody  hands.  Away  !  1 
will  not  go — strike  me  dead  first — strike  me  dead,  but  I  will  not  go." 


THE    fEMASSEE.  423 

"  But  you  shall !  What !  think  you  I  aru  a  child  to  be  put  off 
with  great  words  and  passionate  speeches !  What,  ho  !  there,  boys 
---do  as  I  have  told  you." 

In  a  moment,  the  pastor  and  his  child  were  torn  asunder. 

"  Father — help — help !  I  lose  thee — mother — father — Gabriel !" 

"  Villain,  release  me — give  me  back  my  child.  Undo  your  hold 
— you  shall  suffer  for  this.  Ila !  ha  !  ha !  they  come — they  come  ! 
Hurry,  hurry,  my  people.  Here — here — we  are  here — they  tear 
away  my  child.  Where  are  you — oh,  Harrison,  but  come  now — 
come  now,  and  she  is  yours — only  save  her  from  the  hands  of 
this  fierce  ruffian.  God  be  praised  !  They  come — they  come  !'' 

They  did  come — the  broad  glare  of  sunlight  on  the  edge  of  the 
forest  was  darkened  by  approaching  shadows.  A  shot — another 
and  another  was  heard — and  the  fugitives,  who  were  Indians  flying 
from  the  pursuing  Carolinians,  rushed  forward  headlong ;  but  as 
they  saw  the  group  of  whites  on  the  river's  brink,  thinking  them 
new  enemies,  they  darted  aside,  and  taking  another  route,  buried 
themselves  in  the  forest,  out  of  sight,  just  as  their  pursuers  came 
forth  upon  the  scene.  A  single  glance  of  Bess  Matthews,  as  the 
ruffian  suddenly  seized  upon  and  bore  her  to  the  boat,  distinguished 
the  manly  form  of  her  lover  darting  out  of  the  thicket  and  di 
rectly  upon  the  path  approaching  them.  That  glance  gave  her 
new  hope — new  courage — new  strength  !  She  shrieked  to  him  in 
a  voice  delirious  with  terror  and  hope,  as  the  pirate,  bearing  her 
like  an  infant  in  his  powerful  grasp,  strode  into  the  boat,  and  bade 
the  seamen  who  manned  it,  push  off,  and  pull  away  with  all  their 
vigour. 

"  Come  to  me,  Gabriel — save  me,  save  me,  or  I  perish.  It  is  1 
— thy  own  Bess — ever  thine — save  me,  save  me." 

She  fell  back  fainting  with  exhaustion  and  excitement,  and  lay 
nerveless  and  almost  senseless  in  the  arms  of  her  abductor.  He 
sustained  her  with  perfect  ease  with  one  arm,  upon  his  bosom, 
while  standing  erect,  for  the  boat  scarce  permitted  him  with  his 
burden  to  do  otherwise,  he  placed  his  foot  upon  the  slender  rudder 
and  guided  its  progress,  his  men  looking  round  occasionally  and 
suggesting  the  course  of  the  vessel.  In  this  way  he  kept  his 
eye  upon  shore,  and  beheld  the  progress  of  events  in  that  quarter. 


424:  THE    YEMASSEE. 

The  cries  of  his  betrothed  had  taught  Harrison  the  conditk  n 
of  affairs.     lie  saw  her  precarious  situation  at  a  glance,  and,  rusl  - 
ing  down  to  the  beach,  followed  by  his  men,  the  seamen  fled  alonj; 
the  banks  higher  up  the  river,  and  were  soon  out  of  sight,  leaving 
the  old  pastor  and  his  wife  free.     The  scene  before  him  was  tox 
imposing  in  the  eye  of  Harrison  to  permit  of  his  giving  the  fugi 
tives  a.  thought.     But  the  pastor,  now  free  from   restraint,  with 
speechless  agony,  rushed  forward   and  clasping  his  arm,  poirite 
with  his  finger  to  the  form  of  his  daughter,  hanging  like  a  brokt 
flower,  supine  and  almost  senseless,  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  Her 
culean  captor.     The  action  of  Harrison  was  immediate,  and  in  a 
moment,  the  rifle  was  lifted  to  his  shoulder,  his  eye  ranging  upon 
the  sight,  and  singling  out  the  exposed  breast  of  the  pirate,  which 
lay  uncovered,  but  just  alongside  of  the  drooping  head  of  the  mai 
den.     As  the  seaman  saw  the  movement,  he  changed  her  position 
— she  saw  it  too,  and  lifting  her  hand,  placed  it,  with  an  emphasis 
not  to  be  mistaken,  upon   her  heart.     The  old  pastor,  terrified  by 
what  he  saw,  again  seized  Harrison  by  the  arm,  and  cried  to  him 
convulsively,  while  the  tears  trickled  down  his  cheeks — 

"  Stay  thy  hand — stay  thy  hand — shoot  not ;  rather  let  me  lose 
her,  but  let  her  live — thou  wilt  slay  her,  thou  wilt  slay  my  child — 
my  own,  my  only  child,"  and  he  tottered  like  an  infant  in  his  deep 
agony. 

"  Away,  old  man — give  me  room — away  !"  and  with  the  words, 
with  unscrupulous  strength,  Harrison  hurled  him  from  him  upon 
the  sands.  Without  a  pause  the  fearful  instrument  was  again  up 
lifted — the  aim  was  taken, — his  finger  rested  on  the  trigger,  but 
his  heart  sickened — his  head  swam — his  eyes  grew  blind  and  dizzy 
ere  he  drew  it ;  and  with  a  shiver  of  convulsion,  he  let  the  weapon 
descend  heavily  to  the  ground. 

The  weakness  was  on»ly  momentary.  A  faint  scream  came  to 
his  ears  over  the  water,  and  brought  back  with  it  all  his  strength. 
The  maiden  had  watched  closely  all  his  motions,  and  the  last  had 
given  her  energy  somewhat  to  direct  .hem.  That  scream  aroused 
him.  He  resumed  his  position  and  aim;  and,  fixing  the  »ight 
upon  that  part  of  the  bosom  of  his  enemy  least  concealed,  nerved 
himself  to  s>ll  the  hazard,  and  resolutely  drew  the  trigger,  -he 


THE    YEMASSEE.  425 

effect  was  instantaneous.  The  next  instant  the  maiden  was  seen 
released  from  the  pirate's  grasp  and  sinking  down  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  while  he  stood  erect.  The  venerable  pastor  fainted, 
while,  on  her  knees,  his  aged  wife  bent  over  him  in  silent  prayer. 

That  moment  was  more  than  death  to  Harrison ;  but  what  was 
his  emotion  of  delight  when,  at  the  next,  he  beheld  the  pirate,  like 
some  gigantic  tree  that  has  kept  itself  erect  by  its  own  exceeding 
weight,  fall,  like  a  tower,  headlong,  over  the  side  of-  the  boat,  stiff 
and  rigid,  and  without  a  struggle,  sink  deeply  and  silently  down 
beneath  the  overdosing  waters.  But  a  new  danger  awaited  the 
maiden ;  for  in  his  fall,  destroying  the  equipoise  of  the  skiff,  its 
entire  contents  were,  at  the  next  instant,  precipitated  into  the 
stream ;  and  while  the  two  seamen,  unhurt,  struck  off  towards  the 
vessel,  the  maiden  lay  in  sight,  sustained  above  the  surface  only  by 
the  buoyancy  of  her  dress,  and  without  exhibiting  any  other  mo 
tion.  A  dozen  sinewy  arms  from  the  shore  at  once  struck  the 
water,  but  which  of  all,  nerved  as  he  was  by  the  highest  stimulant 
of  man's  nature,  could  leave  the  fearless  Harrison  behind  him  ?  On 
he  dashes — on — on — now  he  nears  her, — another  moment  and  she 
is  saved;  but  while  every  eye  was  fixed  as  with  a  spell  upon  the 
prospect  with  an  anxiety  inexpressible,  the  sullen  waters  went  over 
her,  and  a  universal  cry  of  horror  arose  from  the  shore.  But  she 
rose  again  in  an  instant,  and  with  a  show  of  consciousness,  stretch 
ing  out  her  hand,  the  name  of  "Gabriel,"  in  a  tone  of  imploring 
love,  reached  the  ears  of  her  lover.  That  tone,  that  word,  was 
enough,  and  the  next  moment  found  her  insensible  in  his  arms. 
She  was  a  child  in  his  grasp,  for  the  strength  of  his  fearless  and 
passionate  spirit,  not  less  than  of  his  native  vigour,  was  active  to 
save  her. 

"  Help — help,"  was  his  cry  to  the  rest,  and  to  the  shore  ; — he 
sustained  her  till  it  came.  It  was  not  long  ere  she  lay  in  the  arms 
of  her  parents,  whose  mutual  tears  and  congratulations  came 
sweetly,  along  with  their  free  consent,  to  make  her  preserver  happv 
w'th  the  hand  hitherto  denied  him. 


CHAPTER    L. 

u  Another  stroke  for  triumph.     It  goen  -     0, 
The  foe  gives  back — he  yields.     Anop-  r  hour 
Beholds  us  on  his  neck." 

HARRISON  thus  blessed  with  happiness,  appropriated  but  little 
jme,  however,  to  its  enjoyment.  His  miiid  was  of  that  active  sorl , 
that  even  the  sweets  of  love  were  to  be  enjoyed  by  him  as  ; 
stimulant,  rather  than  a  clog  to  exertion.  Conveying  the  littlt 
family  to  a  recess  in  the  woods,  and  out  of  sight  of  the  craft  of  tin 
pirate,  he  immediately  proceeded — having  first  led  the  foresters 
aside — to  explain  his  further  desires  to  them  in  reference  to  their 
common  duties. 

"  Joy,  my  brave  fellows,  and  thanks  to  you,  for  this  last  night's 
good  service.  You  have  done  well,  and  risked  yourselves  nobly. 
Grayson,  give  me  your  hand — you  are  a  good  soldier.  Where's 
your  brother  ?" 

"  Here  1"  was  the  single  word  of  response  spoken  from  the  back 
ground  by  the  lips  of  Hugh  Grayson.  The  tone  of  the  monosyl 
lable  was  melancholy,  but  not  sullen.  Harrison  advanced  to  him, 
and  extended  his  hand. 

"  Master  Grayson,  to  you  we  owe  most  of  our  safety  to-day.  But 
for  you,  the  sun  would  have  found  few  of  us  with  a  scalp  on.  Your 
activity  in  bringing  up  the  men  has  saved  us ;  for,  though 
otherwise  safe  enough,  the  firing  of  the  Block  House  must  have 
been  fatal  to  all  within.  For  myself,  I  may  freely  acknowledge, 
my  life,  at  this  moment,  is  due  to  your  timely  appearance.  Your 
command,  too,  was  excellently  managed  for  so  young  a  soldier. 
Accept  my  thanks,  sir,  in  behalf  of  the  country  not,  less  than  of 
myself.  I  shall  speak  to  you  again  on  this  subject,  and  in  regard 
to  other  services  in  which  your  aid  will  be  required,  after  a  while< 

The  youth  looked   upon   Harrison  with  a   degree  of  surpri 
which  prevented  him  from  making  any  adequate  answer.     Whe- 


THE   YEMASSEE.  427 

cainc  that  air  of  conscious  superiority  in  the  speaker — that  tone  of 
command — of  a  power  unquestionable,  and  held  as  if  born  with  it 
in  his  possession  ?  The  manner  of  Harrison  had  all  the  ease  and 
oftiness  of  a  prince ;  and,  scarcely  less  than  the  crowd  around  him, 
;he  proud-spirited  youth  felt  a  degree  of  respectful  awe  stealing 
over  him,  of  which  he  began  to  grow  ashamed.  But,  before  he 
could  recover,  in  time  to  exhibit  any  of  that  rash  and  imperious 
isticity  which  the  lowlier  born  of  strong  native  mind  is  so  apt  to 
uvfv  in  the  presence  of  the  conventional  superior,  the  speaker  had 
again  addressed  the  crowd. 

"  And  you,  men,  you  have  all  done  well  for  the  country,  and  it 
owes  you  its  gratitude." 

"  Ay,  that  it  does,  captain,"  said  Nichols,  advancing — "  that  it 
does.  We  have  stood  by  her  in  the  hour  of  her  need.  We  have 
resisted  the  approach  of  the  bloody  invader,  and  with  liberty  or 
death  for  our  motto,  we  have  rushed  to  the  conflict,  sir,  defying 
consequences." 

"  Ah,  Nichols — you  are  welcome,  both  in  what  you  have  done 
and  what  you  have  said.  I  might  have  known  that  the  country 
was  safe  in  your  hands,  knowing  as  I  do  your  general  sentiments 
on  the  subject  of  the  liberties  of  the  people.  Granville  county, 
Nichols,  must  make  you  her  representative  after  this,  and  I'm  sure 
she  will." 

The  speaker  smiled  sarcastically  as  he  spoke,  but  Nichols  had 
an  easy  faith,  and  was  modestly  content  with  a  surface  compliment, 
and  never  laboured  to  discover  the  occult  adverse  signification 
which  it  might  conceal.  He  was  wise  after  the  usual  fashion  of 
the  demagogue,  and  with  great  regard  to  proprieties  of  character, 
he  replied  in  a  speech. 

•k  Ah,  captain,  'twere  an  honour ; — and  could  my  fellow-coun 
trymen  be  persuaded  to  look  upon  me  with  your  eyes,  proud  would 
1  be  to  stand  up  for  their  rights,  and  with  the  thunders  of  my 
voice,  compel  that  justice  from  the  Assembly  which,  in  denying 
representation  to  all  dissenters,  they  have  most  widely  departed 
from.  Ay,  captain — fellow-citizens — permit  me  to  address  you 

>\v  upon  a  few  topics  most  important  to  your  own  liberties,  and 

the  common  benefit  of  humanity.     My  voice — " 


428  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  Must  just  at  this  moment  be  unheard,"  inUrrapted  Harrison  ; 
"  we  have  need  of  other  thunders  now.  Hear  me,  gentlemen;  for 
this  I  have  called  you  together.  I  want  from  among  you  thirt  / 
vohmteers — hardy,  whole-souled  fellows,  who  do  not  count  headi 
in  a  scuffle.  The  enterprise  is  dangerous,  and  must  be  executed—  - 
very  dangerous  I  say — and  I  beg  that  none  may  offer  but  thos<! 
who  are  perfectly  ready  at  any  moment — to  use  the  words  of  Dr 
Nichols — to  die  for  the  country.  The  doctor  himself,  however, 
must  not  go,  as  he  is  too  important  to  us  in  his  surgical  capacity  .r 

Nichols,  well  pleased  with  the  exception  thus  made,  was  not 
however  willing  to  appear  so,  and,  glad  of  the  opportunity,  could 
not  forbear  making  something  of  a  popular  hit. 

"  How,  captain — this  may  not  be.  I  am  not  one  of  those,  sir, 
altogether  content  to  be  denied  the  privilege  of  dying  for  my 
country  when  occasion  calls  for  it.  Let  me  go  on  this  service;— I 
insist.  I  am  one  of  the  people,  and  will  forego  none  of  their 
dangers." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  of  course  I  can  say  nothing — 
we  hold  you  pledged,  therefore.  There  are  now  three  of  us — 
Master  Hugh  Grayson,  I  presume  to  place  you,  as  one  with  myself 
and  Dr.  Nichols,  volunteering  upon  this  service.  I  understand 
you  so." 

The  high  compliment,  and  the  delicate  manner  in  which  it  was 
conveyed,  totally  disarmed  young  Grayson,  who,  softened  con 
siderably  by  the  proceeding,  bowed  his  head  in  assent,  approaching 
by  degrees  to  where  Harrison  stood.  Nichols,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  not  contemplated  so  easily  getting  the  permission  which  he 
called  for,  and,  well  knowing  his  man,  Harrison  barely  gave  it,  as 
he  foresaw  it  would  not  be  long  before  he  would  assume  new 
ground,  which  would  bring  about  a  ready  evasion  of  his  responsi 
bility.  The  elder  Grayson  meanwhile  volunteered  also,  followed 
by  several  others,  and  in  a  little  time  the  required  number  was 
almost  complete.  But  the  surgeon  now  demanded  to  know  the 
nature  of  the  service. 

"What  matters  it,  doctor — it  is  an  hoLourable,  because  a 
dangerous  service.  You  shall  know  in  time." 

"  That  does  not  suit  me,  captain.     WhaV-shall  I  suffer  mysev 


THE    YEMASSEE.  429 

to  be  led  blindfold  upon  a  duty,  the  propriety  of  which  may 
be  doubtful,  not  less  than  the  policy  ?  Sir — I  object  upon  prin 
ciple." 

"Principle — indeed,  doctor,"  said  Harrison,  smiling.  "Why, 
what  in  the  name  of  pounds  and  shillings  has  principle  to  do  in 
this  business  2" 

"  Enough,  sir — the  rights  of  man — of  the  people  of  the  country, 
are  all  involved.  Do  I  not,  sir,  in  thus  volunteering  upon  a  service 
•  of  which  I  know  nothing,  put  myself  under  the  control  of  one  who 
may  make  me  a  traitor  to  my  country,  a  defier  of  the  laws,  and 
probably  a  murderer  of  my  fellow-man  ?  Sir,  what  security  have 
I  of  the  morality  and  the  lawfulness  of  your  proceeding  ?" 

"  Very  true — you  are  right,  and  such  being  your  opinions,  I 
thir-k  you  would  err  greatly  to  volunteer  in  this  business,''  was  the 
gra-Te  response  of  Harrison. 

l<  Ah,  I  knew  you  would  agree  with  me,  captain — I  knew  it," 
crx>d  the  doctor,  triumphantly. 

**  I  want  another  man  or  two — we  are  something  short." 

As  the  leader  spoke  Hector  came  forward,  his  head  hanging  on 
ofce  shoulder,  as  if  he  feared  rebutf  for  his  presumption,  in  the 
unlooked-for  proffer  of  service  which  he  now  made. 

"  Maussa — you  let  Hector  go,  he  glad  too  much.  He  no  want 
stay  here  wid  de  doctor  and  de  'omans." 

His  reference  to  the  demagogue,  accompanied  as  it  was  with  an 
Jl-concealed  chuckle  of  contempt,  provoked  the  laughter  of  the 
crowd  ;  and  observing  that  the  greater  number  looked  favourably 
upon  the  proposal  of  the  negro,  Harrison  consented. 

"  You  will  knock  a  Spaniard  on  the  head,  sir,  if  I  bid  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  maussa,  and  scalp  'em  too,  jist  like  dem  Injin." 

"  You  shall  go." 

"  Tankee — dat's  a  good  maussa.  Hello,  da — "  and  perfectly  ovejc- 
joyed,  he  broke  out  with  a  stanza  of  negro  minstrelsy, common,  even 
(iow,  to  the  slaves  of  Carolina — 

'•'  He  come  rain — he  come  shine, 

Hab  a  good  maussa,  who  da  care? 
De  black  is  de  white  and  de  white  is  de  blaci, 
Hab  a  good  maussa,  who  da  care  \ 


4:30  THE   YEMASSEE. 

But  look  out,  nigger,  when  missis  come— - 
Hah!  den  de  wedder  will  alter  some — 
If  she  cross, — Oh  1 — who  for  say, 
You  ebber  again  see  sunshine  day  t" 

How  long  Hector  might  have  gone  on  with  his  uncouth,  and,  at 
Jar  as  the  sex  is  interested,  ungallant  minstrelsy,  may  not  well  b< 
said  ;  but,  seeing  its  direction,  his  master  silenced  it  in  a  sufficienth 
potent  manner. 

"  Be  still,  sirrah,  or  you  shall  feed  on  hickory." 

"  No  hab  'tomach  for  'em,  maussa.     I  dumb." 

"'Tis  well.      Now,  men,  see  to   your  weapons — hatchets   and 
knives  for  all — we  shall  need  little  else,  but  fearless  hearts  and  strong 
hands.     Our  purpose  is  to  seize  upon   that   pirate  vessel  in  the  •• 
river." 

The  men  started  with  one  accord. 

"  Ay,  no  less.  It's  a  perilous  service,  but  not  so  perilous  as  it  ap 
pears.  I  happen  to  know  that  there  are  now  not  two  men  on  board 
of  the  vessel  accustomed  to  the  management  of  the  guns — not 
fifteen  on  board  in  all.  Granger  has  got  us  boats  in  plenty,  and  I 
have  conceived  a  plan  by  which  we  shall  attack  her  on  all  points. 
Something  of  our  success  will  depend  upon  their  consciousness  of 
weakness.  They  are  without  a  commander,  and  their  men,  accus 
tomed  to  fighting,  are  in  our  woods  dead  or  running,  and  in  no 
ability  to  serve  them.  The  show  of  numbers,  and  ten  or  a  dozen 
boats  with  stout  men  approaching  them,  will  do  much  with  their 
fears.  We  shall  thus  board  them  with  advantage ;  and  though  I 
hope  not  to  escape  with  all  of  us  unhurt,  I  am  persuaded  we  shall 
be  successful  without  much  loss.  Master  Hugh  Grayson  will  com 
mand  three  of  the  boats,  Master  Walter  Grayson  three  others,  and 
the  rest  will  be  with  me.  You  have  now  heard.  If,  like  the  doctor 
here,  any  of  you  object  to  proceeding,  on  principle,  against  this 
pirate  who  has  sought  the  destruction  of  our  people,  well  and  good 
— they  are  at  liberty  to  withdraw,  and  we  shall  look  for  other  mcii 
less  scrupulous.  Who  is  ready  ?" 

The  confident,  almost  careless  manner  of  the  speaker,  was  jj.  $ 
more  effect  than  his  language.     The  cry  was  unanimous  : 

lt  Lead  on — we  are  all  ready." 


THE   YEMASSEE.  43 1 

"  I  thank  you,  my  merry  men,  and  old  England  for  ever !  Master 
Hugh  Grayson,  and  you,  friend  Walter, — let  us  counsel  here  a 
moment." 

He  led  them  aside,  and  together  they  matured  the  plan  of  attack. 
Then  leaving  them  to  parcel  off  the  men,  Harrison  stole  away  for 
a  few  moments  into  the  silent  grove  where  the  pastor's  family  was 
sheltered.  As  we  have  no  business  there,  we  can  only  conjecture 
the  motive  of  his  visit.  A  press  of  the  hand  from  the  beloved  one 
were  much  to  one  about  to  go  upon  an  adventure  of  life  and  death. 
He  returned  in  a  few  moments  with  increased  alacrity,  and  led  the 
way  to  the  boats,  eleven  in  number,  which  Granger  in  the  mean 
time  had  selected  from  those  employed  by  the  Indians  in  crossing 
the  preceding  night.  They  were  small,  but  sufficiently  large  for 
the  men  allotted  to  each.  In  their  diminutiveness,  too,  lay  much  of 
their  safety  from  the  great  guns  of  the  vessel. 

Leading  the  way,  the  boat  of  Harrison,  followed  by  those  in  his 
charge,  shot  ahead  of  the  rest,  bearing  down  full  upon  the  broad 
side  of  the  pirate.  This  was  the  most  dangerous  point  of  approach. 
The  two  Graysons  led  their  separate  forces,  the  one  to  reach  the 
opposite  side,  the  other  at  the  stern  lights,  in  order  that  the  attack 
should  be  simultaneous  at  all  vulnerable  places.  In  this  manner 
the  several  boats  covered  the  various  assailable  points  of  the  vessel , 
rfid  necessarily,  by  dividing  their  force  for  the  protection  of  each 
quarter,  weakened  the  capacity  of  the  seamen  to  contend  with 
them. 

The  pirate  lay  at  about  a  mile  and  a  half  below  them  upon  the 
river — her  form  in  perfect  repose — and  even  weaker  in  her  force 
than  Harrison  had  conjectured.  Bewildered  with  his  situation, 
and  unaccustomed  to  command,  the  inferior  officer,  left  in  tempo 
rary  charge  of  her  by  Chorley,  had  done  nothing,  and  indeed  could 
do  nothing,  towards  the  defence  of  his  vessel.  The  few  men  left 
with  him  had  become  refractory  ;  and,  with  the  reputed  reckless 
ness  of  men  in  their  way  of  life,  had  proceeded,  during  the  ab 
sence  of  Chorley,  whom  they  feared  rather  than  respected,  to  all 
manner  of  excess.  Liquor,  freely  distributed  by  the  commanding 
officer,  with  the  hope  to  pacify,  had  only  the  effect  of  stimulating 
their  violence ;  and  the  approach  of  the  assailing  party,  magnified 


412 

432  THE   YEMASSEE. 

FT 

by  their  fears  and  excesses,  found  them  without  energy  to 
and  scarcely  ability  to  fly.  The  lieutenant  did  indeed  endeavour 
to  bring  them  to  some  order  and  show  of  defence.  With  his  OWL 
hand  he  rigged  up  a  gun,  which  he  pointed  among  the  approach 
ing  boats.  The  scattering  and  whizzing  shot  would  have  been 
fatal,  had  the  aim  been  better ;  but  apprehension  and  excitement 
had  disturbed  too  greatly  the  mental  equilibrium  of  officer  and 
men  alike ;  and,  not  anticipating  such  a  result  to  their  adventure, 
and  having  no  thought  themselves  of  being  attacked,  where  they 
had  come  to  be  assailants,  they  fell  into  a  panic  from  which  they 
did  not  seek  to  recover.  The  failure  of  the  shot  to  injure  their 
enemies  completed  their  apprehension  ;  and  as  the  little  squadroh 
of  Harrison  continued  to  approach,  without  fear  and  without  ob 
struction,  the  refractory  seamen  let  down  their  own  boats  in  th« 
direction  of  the  opposite  shore,  and,  so  considerably  in  advance  of 
the  Carolinians  as  to  defy  pursuit,  were  seen  by  them  pulling  with, 
all  industry  towards  the  Indian  country.  A  single  man,  the  lieu 
tenant,  appeared  on  board  for  a  few  moments  after  they  had  left 
the  vessel ;  but  whether  he  remained  from  choice,  or  that  they  re 
fused  to  take  him  with  them,  was  at  that  time  a  mystery  to  the 
assailing  party.  His  design  may  be  guessed  at  in  the  sequel. 

Despatching  the  Graysons  in  pursuit  of  the  flying  pirates,  whoso 
number  did  not  exceed  ten  men,  Harrison  brought  his  boat  along 
side  the  vessel,  and  resolutely  leaped  on  board.  But  where  waa 
the  lieutenant  he  had  seen  but  a  few  minutes  before  ?  He  called 
aloud,  and  traversed  the  deck  in  search  of  him,  but  in  vain.  He 
was  about  to  descend  to  the  cabin,  when  he  felt  himself  suddenly 
seized  upon  by  Hector,  who,  with  looks  of  excited  terror,  dragged 
him  forward  to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  with  a  directing  finger 
and  a  single  word,  developed  their  full  danger  to  his  master. 

"  Maussa — de  ship  da  burn — look  at  de  smoke — jump,  maussa, 
for  dear  life — jump  in  de  water."  It  needed  no  second  word — 
they  sprang  over  the  side  of  the  vessel  at  the  same  instant  that  an 
immense  body  of  dense  sulphureous  vapour  ascended  from  below 
The  river  received  them,  for  their  boar  had  been  pushed  off,  with 
a  proper  precaution,  to  a  little  di^ance  Ere  they  were  taken  up, 
the  catastrophe  was  over — the  exi >!<:- ion  nad  taken  place,  and  tha 


THE    YEMASSEE.  43i> 

sky  was  blackened  with  the  smoke  and  fragments  of  the  vessel 
upon  which,  but  a  few  moments  before,  they  had  stood  in  perfect 
safety.  But  where  was  the  lieutenant  ? — where  ?  He  had  been 
precipitate  in  his  application  of  the  match,  and  his  desperatioL 
found  but  a  single  victim  in  himself  i 


12 

r/ 


CHAPTER    L), 

*  It  is  the  itftry's  picture — we  must  group, 
So  that  the  eye  may  see  what  the  quick  mind 
Hath  chronicled  before.     The  painter's  art 
Is  twin  unto  the  poet's — both  were  born, 
That  truth  might  have  atone  of  melody, 
And  fancy  shape  her  motion  into  grace." 

\  MOTLEY  assemblage  gathered  at  the  Chiefs  Bluff,  upon  the 
banks  of  the  Pocota-ligo,  at  an  early  hour  or  the  day  so  full  of 
incident.  A  fine  day  after  so  foul  a  promise — the  sun  streamed 
brightly,  and  the  skies  without  a  cloud  looked  down  peacefully 
over  the  settlement.  But  there  was  little  sympathy  among  the 
•minds  of  the  borderers  wkb  such  a  prospect.  They  had  suffered 
ijiiite  too  much,  and  their  .sufferings  were  quite  too  fresh  in  their 
minds,  properly  to  feel  it.  Worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  not  yet 
recovered  from  their  trials  and  terrors — now  struggling  onward 
\\ith  great  effort,  and  now  borne  in  the  arms  of  the  more  able- 
bodied  among  the  men — came  forward  the  women  and  children 
who  had  been  sheltered  in  the  Block  House.  That  structure  was 
now  in  ashes — so  indeed,  generally  speaking,  were  all  the  dwell 
ings  between  that  point  and  Pocota-ligo.  Below  the  former  point, 
however — thanks  to  the  manful  courage  and  ready  appearance  of 
Hugh  Grayson  with  the  troop  he  had  brought  up — the  horrors  of 
the  war  had  not  extended.  But,  in  all  other  quarters,  the  insur 
rection  had  been  successful.  Far  and  wide,  scattering  themselves 
in  bands  over  every  other  part  of  the  colony,  the  Yernassees  and 
their  numerous  allies  were  carrying  the  terrors  of  their  arms 
through  the  unprepared  and  unprotected  settlement,  down  to  the 
very  gates  of  Charleston — the  chief  town  and  principal  rallying 
point  of  the  Carolinians  ;  and  there  the  inhabitants  were  literally 
walled  in,  unable  to  escape  unless  bv  sea.  and  then,  only  from  the 
country  But  this  belongs  elsewhere.  The  group  now  assembled 


THE    YEMASSEE.  439 

•*  It  is  here,  sir — all  in  safety,  as  tliou  gavest  it  him,"  said  the 
wifs  of  the  trader,  coming  forward.  "  In  the  hurry  of  the  fight 
he  gave  it  me  for  safe  keeping,  though  too  much  worried  to  think 
afterwards  rf  the  trust." 

"  Thou  art  a  strong-minded  woman — and  'tis  well  for  Granger 
that  such  as  thou  hast  him  in  charge.  Take  my  thanks  for  thy 
discharge  of  duties  self-assumed,  and  not  assigned  thee.  Thou 
shalt  be  remembered." 

Possessing  himself  of  the  packet,  he  approached  Hugh  Grayson, 
who  stood  sullenly  apart,  and  drawing  from  its  folds  a  broad  sheet 
of  parchment,  he  thus  addressed  him  : — 

"  Master  Grayson,  the  colony  owes  thee  thanks  for  thy  good 
service,  and  would  have  more  from  thee.  I  know  not  one  in  whom, 
at  such  a  time,  its  proprietary  lords  can  better  confide,  in  this  eon- 
iest,  than  in  thee.  Thou  hast  courage,  enterprise,  and  conduct — 
art  not  too  rash,  nor  yet  too  sluggish — but,  to  my  poor  mind,  thou 
combinest  happily  all  the  materials  which  should  make  a  good 
captain.  Thou  hast  a  little  mistaken  me  in  some  things,  and,  per 
haps,  thou  hast  something  erred  in  estimating  thyself.  But  thou 
art  young,  and  responsibility  makes  the  man — nothing  like  respon 
sibility  !  So  thinking,  and  with  a  frank  speech,  I  beg  of  thee  to 
accept  this  commission.  It  confers  on  thee  all  military  command 
in  this  county  of  Granville,  to  pursue  the  enemies  of  the  colony 
with  fire  and  sword — to  control  its  people  for  the  purposes  of  wai 
in  dangerous  times  like  the  present — and  to  do,  so  long  as  this 
insurrection  shall  continue,  whatever  may  seem  wise  to  thy  mind, 
for  the  proprietors  and  for  the  people,  as  if  they  had  spoken 
through  thy  own  mouth.  Is  the  trust  agreeable  to  thee  ?"  r 

"  Who  art  thou  ?"  was  the  surprised  response  of  the  youth,  look 
ing  a  degree  of  astonishment,  corresponding  with  that  upon  th«c 
faces  of  all  around,  to  whom  the  speaker  had  hitherto  only  bee* 
known  as  Gabriel  Harrison. 

"  True — let  me  answer  that  question.      The  reply  belongs  t<u 
more  than  one.     Bess,  dearest,  thou  shalt  now  be  satisfied  ;  but  in 
learning  my  secret,  thou  losest  thy  lover.     Know,  then,  thou  hast 
Gabriel  Harrison  no  longer  !     My  true  name  is  ^Charles  Craven  I" 
v    "  The  Governor  l" — filtered  Gravson. 


440  THE    YEMASSEE. 

"  H-i !  what !"  exclaimed  the  pastor. 

"  The  Governor" — roared  Nichols — "  the  Governor,  nimself — tih 
Lord  Palatine  of  Carolina  !" 

Bess  Matthews  only  murmured — "Oh!  Gabriel!"  as  she  sanl 
with  her  heart  full  of  silent  happiness,  into  the  arms  of  her  lovoi 
Meanwhile,  the  loud  and  joyful  shout  of  all  around  attested  t'h  : 
gratification  with  which  the  people  recognised,  in  an  old  acquaint 
ance,  the  most  popular  governor  of  the  Carolinas,  under  the  loixU  • 
proprietors,  whom  the  Carolinians  ever  had. 

"  I  take  your  commission,  my  lord,"  replied  Grayson,  with  a  d<  • 
gree  of  firm  manliness,  superseding  his  gloomy  expression  an  1 
clearing  it  away — "I  take  it,  sir,  and  will  proceed  at  once  to  t]  «, 
execution  of'  its  duties.  Your  present  suggestions,  sir,  will  be  t  f 
value." 

"  You  shall  have  them,  Master  Grayson.  in  few  words,"  was  ti  e 
reply  of  the  Palatine.     "  It  will  be  your  plan  to  move  down  wi  h 
your  present  force  along  the  river,  taking  with  you,  as  you  procet  1, 
all  the  settlers,  so  as  to  secure  their  safety.     Your  point  of  rest  a;  d 
defence  will  be  the  fort  at  Port  Royal,  which  now  lacks  most  of  its) 
garrison  from  the  draught  made  on  it  by  my  orders  to  Belling-  rJ 
arid  which  gave  you  command  of  the  brave  men  you  brought  up 
last  night.     I  shall  be  at  Port  Koya-1  before  you,  and  will  do 
I  may  there,  in  the   meanwhile,  towards  its  preparation,  whetl 
for  friend  or  foe.     With  your  present  force,  and  what  I  shall  s< 
you  on   my  arrival   at  Charleston,  you  will    be   adequate   to 
defence." 

"Ahem,  ahem  ! — My  lord,"  cried  Nichols,  awkwardly  approa< 
ing — "My  lord,  permit  me,  with  all  due  humility,  to  suggest  ti 
the  duties  so  assigned  Master  Grayson  are  heavy  upon  such  you  i 
hands.  Ahem!  my  lord — it  is  not  now  that  I  have  to  say  t'i 
I  have  never  yet  shrunk  from  the  service  of  the  people, 
would—" 

"  Ay,  ay,  Nichols — I  know  what  you  would  say,  and  duly 
mate  your  public  spirit ;  but,  as  you  are  the  only  surgeon — ind<  e<.P 
the  only  medical  man  in  the  parish— to  risk  your  life  unnecess;ii 
in  a  command  so  full  of  peril  as  that  assigned   Master  Gray.1 
be  very  injudicious.     We  may  spare  a  soldier — or  even 


THE    YEMASSEE.  441 

officer — but  the  loss  of  a  doctor  is  not  so  easily  supplied — and  " — 
here  his  voice  sank  into  a  whisper,  as  he  finished  the  sentence  in 
the  ears  of  the  patriot — "  the  probability  is,  that  your  commander, 
from  the  perilous  service  upon  which  he  goes,  will  be  the  very  first 
to  claim  your  skill." 

"  Well,  my  lord,  \(  I  must,  I  must — but  you  can  understand, 
though  it  does  not  become  me  to  say,  how  readily  I  should  meet 
death  in  behalf  of  the  people." 

"  That  I  know — that  I  know,  Nichols.  Your  patriotism  is  duly 
estimated.  Enough,  now — and  farewell,  gentlemen — God  speed, 
and  be  your  surety.  Granger,  let  us  have  boats  for  the  city." 

"  Young  missis,"  whispered  Hector,  taking  Bess  Matthews  aside 
— "  let  me  beg  you  call  Hector  your  sarbant — tell  maussa  you 
must  hab  me — dat  you  can't  do  widout  me — and  den,  you  see, 
missis,  he  vvun't  bodder  me  any  more  wid  he  foolish  talk 'bout 
freedom.  Den,  you  see,  he  can't  turn  me  off,  no  how."  She  pro 
mised  him  as  he  desired,  and  he  went  off  to  the  boats  singing: — 

"  Go  hush  you  tongue,  ole  nigger, 

Wha'  for  you  grumble  BO, 
You  hab  you  own  good  maussa, 

And  you  hab  good  missis  too : 
4  Che-weet,  che-weet,'  de  little  bird  cry, 

When  he  put  he  nose  under  he  wing, 
But  he  hab  no  song  like  Hector  make, 

When  de  young  misses  yerry  um  sing." 

'*  Well,  good-by,  Maussa  Doctor,  good-by !     L/em  Injins  'mem be 
you  long  time — dem  dat  you  kill  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  black  rascal !"  cried  Constantino 
Maximilian  to  the  retreating  negro,  who  saw  the  regretful  expres 
sion  with  which  the  medical  man  surveyed  the  preparation  for  a 
departure  from  the  scene  of  danger,  in  the  securities  of  which  he 
was  not  permitted  to  partake.  Three  cheers  marked  the  first 
plunge  of  the  boats  from  the  banks,  bearing  off  the  gallant  Pala 
tine  with  his  peerless  forest-flower. 


CHAPTER    LIT. 

*  Truthe,  this  is  an  olde  chronycle,  ywritte 
Ynne  a  «trange  lettere,  whyche  myne  eyne  hare  redd* 
Whenne  birchen  were  a  lessonne  of  the  schools,  . 
Of  nighe  applyance.     I  doe  note  it  welle, 
'I  faithe,  evenne  by  that  tokenne  ;  albeit  muche, 
The  type  hath  worne  away  to  skeleton, 
That  once,  lyke  some  fatte,  pursy  aldermanno, 
Stoode  uppe  in  twcntie  stonne." 

OUR  tale  becomes  history.  The  web  of  fiction  is  woven — the 
romance  is  niga  over.  The  old  wizard  may  not  trench  upon  the 
territories  of  truth.  He  stops  short  at  her  approach  with  a  becom 
ing  reverence.  It  is  for  all  things,  even  for  the  upsoaring  fancy,  to 
worship  and  keep  to  the  truth.  There  is  no  security  unless  in  its 
restraints.  The  fancy  may  play  capriciously  only  with  the  un 
known.  Where  history  dare  not  go,  it  is  then  for  poetry,  borrow 
ing  a  wild  gleam  from  the  blear  eye  of  tradition,  to  couple  with 
her  own  the  wings  of  imagination,  and  overleap  the  boundaries  of 
the  defined  and  certain.  We  have  done  this  in  our  written  pages. 
We  may  do  this  no  longer.  The  old  chronicle  is  before  us,  and 
the  sedate  muse  of  history,  from  her  graven  tablets,  dictates  for 
the  future.  We  write  at  her  bidding  now. 

In  safety,  and  with  no  long  delay,  Harrison, — or,  as  we  should 
call  him,  the  Palatine, — reached  Charleston,  the  metropolis  of 
Carolina.  He  found  it  in  sad  dilemma  and  dismay.  As  he  had 
feared,  the  warlike  savages  were  at  ifs  gates.  The  citizens  were 
hemmed  in — confined  to  the  shelter  of  the  seven  forts  which  gir 
dled  its  dwellings — half-starved,  and  kept  in  constant  watchfulness 
against  hourly  surprise.  The  Indians  had  ravaged  with  fire  and  the 
tomahawk  all  the  intervening  country.  Hundreds  of  the  innocent 
and  unthinking  inhabitants  had  perished  by  deaths  the  most  painful 
and  protracted.  The  farmer  had  been  shot  down  in  the  furrows 
where  he  sowed  his  corn.  His  child  had  been  butchered  upon  the 


THE   YEMASSEE.  443 

threshold,  when,  hearing  the  approaching  footsteps,  it  had  run  to 
meet  its  father.  The  long  hair  of  his  young  wife,  grasped  in  the 
clutches  of  the  murderer,  became  the  decoration  of  a  savage, 
which  had  once  been  the  charm  of  aa  angel.  Death  and  desola 
tion  smoked  along  the  wide  stretch  of  country  bordering  the  coast, 
and  designating  the  route  of  European  settlement  in  the  interior. 
In  the  neighbourhood  of  Pocota-ligo  alone,  ninety  persons  were 
slain.  St.  Bartholomew's  parish  was  ravaged — the  settlement  of 
Stono,  including  the  beautiful  little  church  of  that  place,  was  en 
tirely  destroyed  by  fire,  while  but  few  of  the  inhabitants,  even  of 
the  surrounding  plantations,  escaped  the  fury  of  the  invaders.  All 
the  country  about  Dorchester,  then  new  as  a  settlement,  and  form 
ing  the  nucleus  of  that  once  beautiful  and  attractive,  but  thrice- 
doomed  village,  shared  the  same  fate,  until  the  invaders  reached 
Goose  Creek,  when  the  sturdy  militia  of  that  parish,  led  on  by 
Captain  Chiquan,  a  gallant  young  Huguenot,  gave  them  a  repulse, 
and  succeeding  in  throwing  themselves  between  the  savages  and 
vhe  city,  reached  Charleston,  in  time  to  assist  in  the  preparations 
making  for  its  defence. 

The  arrival  of  the  Palatine  gave  a  new  life  and  fresh  confidence 
to  the  people.  Ilis  course  was  such  as  might  have  been  expected 
from  his  decisive  character.  He  at  once  proclaimed  martial  law — 
laid  an  embargo,  preventing  the  departure  of  any  of  the  male 
citizens,  and  the  exportation  of  clothes,  provisions,  or  anything 
which  might  be  useful  to  the  colonists  in  their  existing  condition. 
Waiting  for  no  act  of  Assembly  to  authorize  his  proceedings,  but 
trusting  to  their  subsequent  sense  of  right  to  acknowledge  and 
ratify  what  he  had  done,  he  proceeded  by  draught,  levy,  and  im- 
pressK^nt,  to  raise  an  army  of  eleven  hundred  men,  in. addition  to 
those  employed  m  maintaining  the  capital.  In  this  proceeding  he 
still  more  signally  showed  his  decision  of  character,  by  venturing 
upon  an  experiment  sufficiently  dangerous  to  alarm  those  not  ac 
quainted  with  the  conc&ion  of  the  southern  negro.  Four  hundred 
of  the  army  so  raised,  conned  of  slaves,  drawn  from  the  parishes 
according  to  assessment.  Charleston  gave  thirty — Christ  Church, 
sixteen— St.  Thomas  and  St.  Dennis,  ftfty-five— St.  James,  Goose 
Creek,  fifty-five— St.  Andrew's,  eighty— SUeX»,  Berkley,  siyty— 


444  THE    YEMASSEE. 

St.  Paul's,  forty-five— St.  James's,  Santeo,  thirty-five— St.  Bartholo- 
mew's,  sixteen — St.  Helena,  eight — making  up  the  required  total  of 
four  hundred.  To  these,  add  six  hundred  Carolinians,  and  one 
hundred  friendly  Indians  or  allies  ;  these  latter  being  Tuscaroras,* 
from  North  Carolina,  almost  the  only  Indian  nation  in  the  south 
not  in  league  against  the  colony.  Other  bodies  of  men  were  alst 
raised  for  stations,  keeping  possession  of  the  Block  Houses  at  points 
most  accessible  to  the  foe,  and  where  the  defence  was  most  impor 
tant.  At  the  Savano  town,  a  corps  of  forty  men  were  stationed — 
a  similar  torce  at  Rawlin's  Bluff  on  the  Edistoh  ;  at  Port  Royal ; 
on  the  Combanee;  at  the  Horseshoe,  and  other  places,  in  like  man 
ner  ;  all  forming  so  many  certain  garrisons  to  the  end  of  the  war. 
All  other  steps  taken  by  the  Palatine  were  equally  decisive  ;  and 
such  were  the  severe  and  summary  penalties  annexed  to  the  non-per 
formance  of  the  duties  required  from  the  citizen,  that  there  was  no 
evasion  of  their  execution.  Death  was  the  doom,  whether  of  de 
sertion  from  duty,  or  of  a  neglect  to  appear  at  the  summons 
to  the  field.  The  sinews  of  war  in  another  respect  were  also 
provided  by  the  Palatine.  He  issued  bills  of  credit  for  30T000/. 
to  raise  supplies  ;  the  counterfeiting  of  which,  under  the  decree  of 
the  privy  council,  was  punishable  by  death  without  benefit  of 
clergy.  Having  thu*:  prepared  for  the  contest,  he  placed  himself 
at  the  head  of  his  rude  levies,  and  with  A  word  of  promise  and 
sweet  regret  to  his  young  bride,  he  marched  out  to  meet  the 
enemy. 

War  with  the  American   Indians  \vas  a  matter  of  far  greater 
romance  than  modern  European  warfare  possibly  can  be.     There^ 
was  nothing  of  regular  array  in  such  conflicts  as  those  of  the  ^  ' 


derers  with  the  savages  ;    and   individual  combats,  such  r 

interest  to  story,  were  common  events  in  all  such  issues   _ 

.     ,    ,       L  T  .     ~  .  ,    ,  .       . ...     The  bor 

derer  smo-ied  out  his  foe,  and  grappled  with  him  & 

in  the  full  con 


fidence  of  superior  muscle.      With  him,  too.  P 

TT    A i.  i        •      i-          TT-  jverv  ball  was  tated. 

He  threw  away  no  shot   in   line.     His  e*--' 

j  i  i  .  i       ,     ,.    *  e  conducted  his  finger ; 

and  he  touched  no  trigger,  unless  v  o  ,,  ->  ^ 

-  ue'urst  ranged  the  white  drop  at 

*  Apart  from  his  pay  in  +K  - 

norae,  as  a  bounty,  o:'     -'™s  war,  each  Tuacarora  received,  on  returning 
may  have  lost,  arTen-ie  gun,  one  hatchet;    and  for  every  slave  which  b* 
my's  slave  in  return! 


THE    YEMASSEE  445 

the  muzzle  of  his  piece  upon  some  vital  point  of  his  foe's  person 
War,  really,  was  an  art,  and  a  highly  ingenious  one,  in  the  deep 
recesses  and  close  swamps  of  the  southern  forests.  There  was  no 
bull-headed  marching  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  cannon.  Their  pride 
was  to  s^et  around  it — to  come  in  upon  the  rear — to  insinuate — to 
dodge — to  play  with  fears  or  the  false  confidence  of  the  foe,  so  as 
to  effect  by  surprise  what  could  not  be  done  by  other  means.  These 
were  the  arts  of  the  savages.  It  was  fortunate  for  the  Carolinians 
that  their  present  leader  knew  them  so  well.  Practised  as  he  had 
been,  the  Palatine  proceeded  leisurely,  but  decisively,  to  contend 
with  his  enemies  on  their  o\\  r  ground,  and  after  their  own  fashion. 
He  omitted  no  caution  which  could  insure  against  surprise,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  be  allowed  himself  no  delay.  Gradually  advanc 
ing,  with  spies  always  out,  he  foiled  all  the  efforts  of  his  adversary. 
In  vain  did  Sanutee  put  all  his  warrior  skill  in  requisition.  In  vain 
did  his  most  cunning  braves  gather  along  the  sheltered  path  in 
ambuscade.  In  vain  did  they  show  themselves  in  small  numbers, 
and  invite  pursuit  by  an  exhibition  of  timidity.  The  ranks  of  the 
Carolinians  remained  unbroken.  There  was  no  exciting  their  lead 
er  to  precipitation.  His  equanimity  was  invincible,  and  he  kept 
his  men  steadily  upon  their  way — still  advancing — still  backing 
their  adversaries — and  with  courage  and  confidence  in  themselves, 
duly  increasing  with  every  successful  step  in  their  progress. 

Sanutee  did  not  desire  battle,  until  the  force  promised  by  the 
Spaniards  should  arrive.  He  was  in  momentary  expectation  of  its 
appearance.  Still,  he  was  reluctant  to  recede  from  his  ground,  so 
advantageously  taken ;  particularly,  too,  as  he  knew  that  the  In 
dians,  only  capable  of  sudden  action,  are  not  the  warriors  for  a 
patient  and  protracted  watch  in  the  field,  avoiding  the  conflict  for 
which  they  have  expressly  come  out.  His  anxieties  grew  with  the 
situation  forced  upon  him  by  the  army  and  position  of  the  Palatine ; 
and  gradually  giving  ground,  he  was  compelled,  very  reluctantly 
to  fall  back  upon  the  river  of  Salke-hatchie,  where  the  Yemassees 
had  a  small  town,  some  twenty  miles  from  Pocota-ligo.  Here  he 
formed  his  great  camp,  determined  to  recede  no  farther.  His  posi 
tion  was  good.  The  river-swamp  ran  in  an  irregular  sweep,  so  as 
partially  to  form  n  front  of  his  array.  His  men  he  distributed 


44:6  THE    YEMASSEE. 

thiough  a  thick  copse  running  alongside  of  the  river,  which  lay 
dirtctly  in  his  rear.  In  retreat,  the  swamps  were  secure  fastnesses, 
and  they  were  sufficiently  contiguous. 

The  night  had  set  in  before  he  took  his  position.  The  Carolini 
ans  were  advancing,  and  but  a  few  miles  divided  the  two  armies. 
Sanutee  felt  secure  from  attack  so  long  as  he  maintained  his  pre 
sent  position ;  and,  sending  out  scouts,  and  preparing  all  things, 
like  a  true  warrior,  for  every  event,  he  threw  himself,  gloomy  with 
conflicting  thoughts,  under  the  shadow  of  an  old  tree  that  rose  up 
in  front  of  his  array. 

While  he  mused,  his  ear  caught  the  approach  of  a  light  footstep 
behind  him.  He  turned,  and  his  eye  rested  upon  Matiwan.  She 
crept  humbly  towards  him,  and  lay  at  his  feet.  He  did  not  re 
pulse  her ;  but  his  tones,  though  gentle  enough,  were  gloomily 
cold. 

"  Would  Matiwan  strike  with  a  warrior,  that  she  comes  to  the 
camp  of  the  Yemassee  ?  Is  there  no  lodge  in  Pocota-ligo  for  the 
woman  of  a  chief?" 

"  The  lodge  is  not  for  Matiwan,  if  the  chief  be  not  there.  Shall 
the  woman  have  no  eyes?  what  can  the  eye  of  Matiwan  behold  if 
Sanutee  stand  not  up  before  it.  The  boy  is  not — " 

"  Cha !  cha !  It  is  the  tongue  of  a  foolish  bird  that  sings  out 
of  his  season.  Let  the  woman  speak  of  the  thing  that  is.  Would 
the  chief  of  the  Yemassee  hear  a  song  from  the  woman  ?  It  must 
be  of  the  big  club,  and  the  heavy  blow.  Blood  must  be  in  the 
song,  and  a  thick  cry." 

"  Matiwan  has  a  song  of  blood  and  a  thick  cry,  the  song  and  cry 
of  Opitchi-Manneyto  when  he  comes  out  of  the  black  swamps  of 
Edistoh.  She  saw  the  black  spirit  with  the  last  dark.  He  stood 
up  before  her  in  the  lodge,  and  he  had  a  curse  for  the  Woman,  for 
Matiwan  took  from  him  his  slave.  He  had  a  curse  for  Matiwan — 
and  a  fire-word,  oh,  well-beloved,  for  Sanutee." 

"  Cha,  cha !  Sanutee  has  no  ear  for  the  talk  of  a  child." 

"  The  Opitchi-Manneyto  spoke  of  Yemassee,"  said  the  woman. 

"  Ha !  what  said  the  black  spirit  to  the  woman  of  Yemassee 9" 
was  the  question  of  the  chief,  with  more  earnestness. 

"  The  acalps  of  the  Yemassee  were  in  his  hand — the  teeth  of  th« 


THE    YEMASSEE.  447 

Yemassee  were  round  his  neck,  and  he  carried  an  arrow  that  was 
broken." 

"  Thou  liest — thou  hast  a  forked  tongue,  and  a  double  voice  foi 
mine  ear.  The  arrow  of  Yemassee  is  whole." 

"  The  chief  has  a  knife  for  the  heart.  Let  the  well-beloved  strike 
the  bosom  of  Matiwan.  Oh,  chief — thou  wilt  see  the  red  blood 
that  is  true.  Strike,  and  tell  it  to  come.  Is  it  not  thine  ?"  she 
bared  her  breast  as  she  spoke,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  full  upon 
his  with  a  look  of  resignation  and  of  love,  which  spoke  her  truth. 
The  old  warrior  put  his  hand  tenderly  upon  the  exposed  bosom, — 

"  The  blood  is  good  under  the  hand  of  Sanutee.  Speak,  Mati 
wan." 

"The  scalps  of  Yemassee — and  the  long  tuft  of  a  chief  were  in 
the  hand  of  the  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

"  What  chief?"  inquired  Sanutee. 

u  The  great  chief,  Sanutee — the  well-beloved  of  the  Yemassee," 
groaned  the  woman,  as  she  denounced  his  own  fate  in  the  ears  of 
the  old  warrior.  She  sank  prostrate  before  him  when  she  had 
spoken,  her  face  prone  to  the  ground.  The  chief  was  silent  for  an 
instant,  after  hearing  the  prediction  conveyed  by  her  vision,  which 
the  native  superstition,  and  his  own  previous  thoughts  of  gloom,  did 
not  permit  him  to  question.  Raising  her  after  awhile,  he  simply 
exclaimed — 

"  It  is  good !" 

"  Shall  Matiwan  go  back  to  the  lodge  in  Pocota-ligo  ?"  she  asked, 
in  a  tone  which  plainly  enough  craved  permission  to  remain. 

"  Matiwan  will  stay.  The  battle-god  comes  with  the  next  sun, 
and  the  Happy  Valley  is  open  for  the  chief." 

"  Matiwan  is  glad.  The  Happy  Valley  is  for  the  woman  of  the 
chief,  and  the  boy — 

"  Cha  !  it  is  good,  Matiwan,  that  thou  didst  strike  with  the  keen 
hatchet  into  the  head  <  f  Occonestoga — Good  !  But  the  chief  would 
not  hear  of  him.  Look — the  bush  is  ready  for  thy  sleep." 

He  pointed  to  the  copse  as  he  spoke,  and  his  manner  forbade 
further  conversation.  Leaving  her,  he  took  his  way  among  the 
warriors,  arranging  the  disposition  of  his  camp  and  of  future 
events. 


448  THE    YEMASSEE. 

Meanwhile,  the  Palatine  approached  the  enemy  slowly,  but  with 
certainty,  and  witli  the  resolve  to  make  him  fight  if  possible.  Con 
fident,  as  he  advanced,  he  nevertheless  made  his  approaches  sure. 
He  took  counsel  ot  all  matters  calculated  to  affect  or  concern  the 
controversies  of  war.  He  omitted  no  precaution — spared  no  pains 
— suffered  nothing  to  divert  him  from  the  leading  object  in  which 
his  mind  was  interested.  His  scouts  were  ever  in  motion,  and  as  he 
himself  knew  much  of  the  country  through  which  he  marched,  his 
information  was  at  all  times  certain.  He  pitched  his  camp  within 
a  mile  of  the  position  chosen  by  the  Yemassees,  upon  ground  care 
fully  selected  so  as  to  prevent  surprise.  His  main  force  lay  in  the 
hollow  of  a  wood,  which  spread  in  the  rear  of  a  small  mucky  bay, 
interposed  directly  between  his  own  and  the  main  position  of  the 
enemy.  A  thick  copse  hung  upon  either  side,  and  here  he  scattered 
a  chosen  band  of  his  best  sharp-shooters.  They  had  their  instruc 
tions  ;  and  as  he  left  as  little  as  possible  to  chance,  he  took  care 
tb:>t  they  fulfilled  them.  Such  were  his  arrangements  tha*  night, 
as  soon  as  his  ground  of  encampment  had  been  chosen. 

A.t  a  given  signal,  the  main  body  of  the  army  retired  to  their 
te^ts.  The  blanket  of  each  soldier,  suspended  from  a  crotch  stick, 
as  was  the  custom  of  war  in  that  region,  formed  his  covering  from 
th^  dews  of  night.  The  long  grass  constituted  a  bed  sufficiently 
warm  and  soft  in  a  clime,  and  at  a,, season,  so  temperate.  The  fires 
vere  kindled,  the  roll  of  the  drum  in  one  direction,  and  the  mellow 
tones  of  the  bugle  in  another,  announced  the  sufficient  signal  for 
repose.  Weary  with  the  long  march  of  the  day,  the  greater  num 
ber  were  soon  lulled  into  a  slumber,  as  little  restrained  by  thought 
as  if  all  were  free  from  danger  and  there  were  no  enemy  befon 
them. 

But  the  guardian  watchers  had  been  carefully  selected  by  then 
provident  leader,  and  they  slept  not.  The  Palatine  himself  was  h 
sufficient  eye  over  that  slumbeiing  host.  He  was  unwearied  and 
wakeful.  He  could  not  be  otherwise.  His  thought  kept  busy  note 
of  the  hours  and  of  the  responsibilities  upon  him.  It  is  thus  thai 
the  leading  mind  perpetually  exhibits  proofs  of  its  immortality 
maintaining  the  physical  nature  in  its  weakness,  renewing  its  strength, 
feeding  it  with  a  fire  that  elevates  its  attributes,  and  almost  secure* 


THE  YEMASSEE.  449 

it  in  immortality  too.  The  Governor  knew  bis  enemy,  and  suspect 
ing  his  wiles,  he  prepared  his  own  counter-stratagems.  F:*  arrange 
ments  were  well  devised,  and  he  looked  with  impatience  for  the 
progress  of  the  hours  which  were  to  bring  about  the  result  he  now 
contemplated  as  certain. 

It  was  early  morning,  some  three  hours  before  the  dawn,  and 
the  grey  squirrel  had  already  begun  to  scatter  the  decayed  branches 
fiom  the  tree-tops  in  which  he  built  his  nest,  when  the  Palatine 
roused  his  officers,  and  they  in  turn  the  men.  They  followed  his 
bidding  in  quick  movement,  and  without  noise ;  they  were  mar 
shalled  in  little  groups,  leaving  their  blanket'  tents  standing  pre 
cisely  as  when  they  lay  beneath  them.  Under  their  several  leaders 
they  were  inarched  forward,  in  single  or  Indian  file,  through  the 
copse  which  ran  along  on  either  side  of  their  place  of  encampment. 
They  were  halted,  just  as  they  marched,  with  their  tents  some  few 
hundred  yards  behind  them.  Here  they  were  dispersed  through 
the  forest,  at  given  intervals,  each  warrior  having  his  bush  or  tree 
assigned  him.  Thus  stationed,  they  were  taught  to  be  watchful 
and  to  await  the  movements  of  the  enemy. 

The  Palatine  had  judged  rightly.  He  was  satisfied  that  the 
Yemassees  would  be  unwilling  to  have  the  battle  forced  upon  them 
at  Pocota-ligo,  exposing  their  women  and  children  to  the  horrors 
of  an  indiscriminate  fight.  To  avoid  this,  it  was  necessary  that 
they  should  anticipate  his  approach  to  that  place.  The  Salke- 
hatchie  was  the  last  natural  barrier  which  they  could  well  oppose 
to  his  progress ;  and  the  swamps  and  thick  fastnesses  which  marked 
the  neighbourhood,  indicated  it  well  as  the  most  fitting  spot  for 
Indian  warfare.  This  was  in  the  thought  of  the  Palatine  not  less 
than  of  Sanutee ;  and  in  this  lay  one  of  the  chief  merits  of  the  for 
mer  as  a  captain.  He  thought  for  his  enemy.  He  could  not 
narrow  his  consideration  of  the  game  before  him  to  his  own  play : 
and  having  determined  what  was  good  policy  with  his  foe,  he 
prepared  his  own  to  encounter  it. 

Sanutee  had  been  greatly  aided  in  the  progress  of  this  war  by 
the  counsels  of  the  celebrated  Creek  chief,  Chigilli,  who  led  a  small 
band  of  the  lower  Creeks  and  Euchees  in  the  insurrection.  With 
his  advice,  he  determined  upon  attacking  the  Carolinian  army  be 


4:50  THE    YEMASSEE. 

fore  the,  dawn  of  the  ensuing  day.  Tha4  night  arranged  his 
proceed  ings,  and,  undaunted  by  the  communication  of  his  fate,  re 
vealed  to  him  in  the  vision  of  Matiwan,  and  which,  perhaps — with 
the  subdued  emotions  of  one  who  had  survived  his  most  absorbing 
affections — he  was  not  unwilling  to  believe,  ho  roused  his  warriors 
at  a  sufficiently  early  hour,  and  they  set  forward,  retracing  their 
steps,  and  well  prepared  to  surprise  their  enemy.  The  voice  of  the 
whippoorwill  regulated  their  progress  through  the  doubtful  and 
dark  night,  and  without  interruption  they  went  on  for  a  mile  or 
more,  until  their  scouts  brought  them  word  that  the  yellow  blan 
kets  of  the  whites  glimmered  through  the  shadows  of  the  trees 
before  them.  With  increased  caution,  therefore,  advancing,  they 
came  to  a  point  commanding  a  full  view  of  the  place  of  repose  of 
the  Carolinian  army.  Here  they  halted,  placing  themselves  care 
fully  in  cover,  and  waiting  for" the  earliest  show  of  dawn  in  which 
to  commence  the  attack  by  a  deadly  and  general  fire  upon  the 
tents  and  their  flying  inmates.  lu  taking  such  a  position,  they 
placed  themselves  directly  between  the  two  divisions  of  the  Pala 
tine's  force,  which,  skirting  the  copse  on  either  hand,  formed  a 
perfect  ambush.  The  Yemassees  did  not  suspect  their  enemy; 
who  were  so  placed,  that,  whenever  the  red  men  should  make 
their  demonstration  upon  the  tents,  where  the  supposed  <  sleepers 
lay,  which  they  were  wont  to  do  just  before  the  dawn — they  would 
be  prepared  and  ready  to  cover  them  with  cross  fires,  and  to  come 
out  upon  their  wings  and  rear,  taking  them  at  a  vantage  which 
must  give  a  fatal  blow  to  their  enterprise. 

It  came  at  last,  the  day  so  long  and  patiently  looked  for  by  both 
parties.  A  faint  gleam  of  light  gushed  through  the  trees,  arid  a 
grey  streak  like  a  fine  thread  stole  out  upon  the  horizon.  Then 
rose  the  cry,  the  fierce  war-whoop  of  Yemassee  and  Creek.  "San- 
garrah-me,  Sanyarmh-me  /"  was  the  deafening  shout  of  the  savages 
with  which  they  "  ilcuiated  to  terrify  the  souls  of  those  whom  they 
thus  awakened  from  bewildering  sleep.  Blood  for  the  Yemassee, 
blood  for  the  Cherokee,  blood  for  the  Creek — were  the  cries 
which,  at  a  given  moment,  carried  forward  the  thousand  fierce  and 
dusky  warriors  of  the  confederate  nations  upon  the  tents  which 
they  fondly  imagined  to  contain  their  sleeping  ereraies.  The  show 


THE     YEMASSEE. 

'.'  a  pale  warrior.  Look,  oh,  well-beloved —  ; 
**  the  white  man  ?  The  big  knife  is  in  the  1 
\Q  blood  is  like  a  rope  on  the  fingers  of  Main 

"It  is  from  the  heart  of  Sanutee  !" 
'  "Ah-cheray-ine — ah-ekeray-me  I"  groaned  I 
Llinentatioii,  as  she  sank  down  beside  the  old 
eticlaaping  his  already  rigid  person. 
'•"It  is  good,  Matiwan.     The  well-beloved 
-see  has  bones  in  the  thick  woods,  and 
braves  to  sing  the  song  of  his  glory.    The  C»osah-ii 
L-osoui  of  the  Yemassee,  with  the  foot  of  the  gr 
II 3  makes  his  bed  in  the  old  home  of  Poec 
burrows  in  the  hiil-side.     We  may  not  drive  : 
liUtee  to  die  with  his  people.     Let  ine 

•,uug." 

k>  Ah-cheray-me — ah  cheray-me  !"  was  the 
woman,  as,  but  partially  eq\ial  to  the  effort, 
song  of  many  victories. 

But  the  pursuers  were  at  hand,  in  the  negr 
field  of  battle  with  their  huge  clubs  and  hat 
the  head  all  of  the  Indians  who  yet  exhib 
A.S  wild   almost  as  (the  savages,  they  luxm 
hem  so  very  novel — they  hurried  over  the 
leet,  and  a  ferocity  as  dreadful — sparing  noi.< 
r  pleaded,  and  frequently  indicting  the  mo 
ven  upon  the  dying  and  the  dead, 

The  eye  of  Matiwr.ii,  while  watching  the 
f  the  old  wa/rior,  discovered  the  approach 
lemies.     She  threw  up  her  hand  to  arrest 
eclaring,  as  she  did  so,  the  name  of  the 
Imself  feebly  strove  to  grasp  the  hatch' 
is  hands,  to  defend  himself,  or  at  least  to  st 
>.a  expiring   life    had  only   gathered   for  a 
bout  his  heart.     The  arm  was  palsied;  1 
hicli  glowed  wildly  upon  the  black,  and  an; 
•riore  completely  than  the  effort  of  Matiwaiv 
luctant  consciousness.     Life  went  with  th 


THE   YEMASSEE. 


strife  for  his  country,  his  lips  parted  feebly  with  the 
-"  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee — Sangarrah-me  —  San 

dim  for  ever.     Looking  DO  longer  to  the  danger  of 

a  the  club  of  the  negro,  Matiwan  threw  herself  at 

y   D  '  '  :d  io  that  childless  woman. 

tit  i.li-  me  came,  up,  in  time  to  "arrest  the 

lervile  wMeh  still  threatened  her. 

said  tljfi  Palatine,  stooping  to  raise  her  from  the 
,  it  is  the  chief?" 

ah-cbermy-me,  Sanutee — Ah-cheray-me,  ah-che- 
eo  !" 

•  scions  of  ail  things,  as   they  bore  her  tenderly 

•'  I  ie  Yemassee  was  no  longer  the  great  nation.    She 

well-beloved,"  as  well  of  herself  as  of  her  peo 

h,  with  Occcnestoga,  wondering  that  she  came  not 

from  tbrf  Blessed  Valley  of  the  Good  Manneyto. 


THE    YEMAS3EE. 

.rated  the  blankets  in  every  direction—  t '  »  'on 

'  ies  through  the  air,  and,  rapidly  advancing  with  the  first  dis 
ge,  the  Indians  rushed  to  the  tents,  tomahawk  in  hand,  to 
strike  down  the  fugitives. 

In  that  moment,  the  sudden  hurrah  of  the  Carolinians,  in  their 
rear  and  on  their  sides,  aroused  them  to  a  knowledge  <?>f  that  .' 
.a  which  had  anticipated  their  own.     The  shot  told  fatall; 
their  exposed  persons,  and  a  fearful  account  of  victims  came  with 
ory  first  discharge  of  the  sharp-shooting  foresters.     Conster- 
-ij,  for  a  moment,  followed   the  first  consciousness  which  the 
•i-l  of  their  predicament;  but  desperation  took  the  ] 

.ranutee   and   Chigilli  led  them  in  every  point,  ami 
iiver  the  face  of  the  foe  could  be  seen.     Their  valour  was  • 
•  -i,  and  European   warfare  has  never  shown  a  n 
deter  «irit  of  bravery  than  was  then  manifested  by  the  wild 

warriors  oi   Yemassee,  striking  the  last  blow  for  the  glory  and  the 
3nce  of  their  once  mighty  nation.     Driven  back  on  one  side 
and  a  i.ey  yot  returned  tierce-ly  and  fearlessly  to 

li  and  an  exaggerated  degree  of  fury;    um- 

gilli,  raging  like  one  of  4iis  own  forest  panthers,  fell  righting,  with 
band  wreathed  in  the  long  hair  of  one  of  the  borderers,  wi, 
had  grappled  behind  his  tree,  and  for  whose  heart  his  knife  was 

.ly  flashing  in  the  air.     A  random  shot  saved 
passing  directly  through  the  skull  of  the  Indian.     A  t 

;ng  vengeance  went  up  from  the  tribe  which  he  led,  as  they 
'd  him  fall;  and  rushing  upon  the  sheltered  whites,  as  they 
:ht  to  reclaim  his  body,  they  experienced  the  same  fate  to  a 
,  !      For  two  hours  after  this  the  fight  raged  recklessly 
fierce.    The  Indians  were  superior  in  number  to  theCaroli.s 

surprise  of  their  first  assault  was  productive  of  a  panic 
which  they  never  perfectly  recovered.     This  was. more  tha;. 
•"it  to  any  disparity  of  force  originally  ;  and,  as  the  position  of 
whites  had  been  well' taken,  the  Ycinassees  found  it  impos 
ID  the  end  to  force  it.     The  sun.  risen  fairly  above  the  f« 

i  them  broken — without  concert— hopeless  of  all  further 
—flying  iu  every  direction;  shot  down  as  they  ran  into  t;li« 
grounds,  and  crushed  by  the  servile  auxiliaries  of  the  whites  as 


: 

they  sought  for  shelter  in  the  cover  of  the  woods,  assigned,  fo 
this  very  pui  negroes. 

A  brief  distance  apart  from  the  melee, — free  from  the   flyiiu 
crowd,  as  the  point  was  more  exposed  to  danger — one  spot  of  th 
field  of  bat!.!*-  rose  into  a  slight  elevation.     A  little  group  r. 
upon  it,  consist -rig  of  four  persons.    /Two  of  them  were  Yeni:. 
subordinates.     One  of  them  'lead.     From  the  boson 

of  the  other,  in  thick  ciinv  life  was  rApidl;' 

ebbing.     He  looked  uj  '  Jast  broken  word; , 

in  his  own  language,  w-^re  those  of  ;  .d  affection  to  th^ 

d  of  his  people — the  great  chief,  Sanutee. 

It  was  the  face  of  the  "  well-beloved''  upon  whom  his  glazed  eye* 
fixed  wi;i  M  of  admiration,  indicative  of  the  feel- 

people,  and  truly  signifying  that  of  the  dying 
Indian  to  the  last.  The  old  chief  looked  down  on  }$m  encourag 
ingly,  as  the  warrior  broke  out  into  a  start  of  song— the  awful  song 
of  the  dying.  The  spirit  parted  with  the  effort,  a  .mod 

res  fiv.n  the  contemplation  of  the  melancholy  spectacle  to  the 
\\rng  person  beside  him. 

Tl-at   M<  rs<jii  was  Mativan.     She  hun  r 
warrior,  with  an  affection  *as  purely  true,  as  ws  •  '>  . 
grief  of  her  soul  was  sp.vohless  and  fearless.'   Her 
closely  upon  his  side,  from  which  the  vital  torrent  was  pouring 
fast;  and  between  the  'wo,  in  a  low  moaning  strain,  in  *!.•: 
•Mgue,  th«y  bewailed  the  fortunes  of  their  nation. 

"The  eye  of  Matiwar.  looked  on,  when  the  tomahawk  w.         1 
— when  the  knife  had  a  win;*.     She  saw  Chigilli,  the  brave 
Creeks — she  saw  him  strike  £"  inquired  the  chie'f  of  the  woman, 

"Mali wan  ;;aw." 

"Let  the  woman  sav  of  Sanutee,  the  well-beloved  of  Yen 
Did  Chigilli  go  before  him  ?    Was  Sanutee  a  dog  that  rut  ^ 
if  a  chief  slow?      Did  the  well-beloved  sirit 
pale  face  as  if  the  red  eye  of  Opitchi-Manneyto  had  !o<  la 
for  a  slave  ?" 

"The  well-beloved  is  the  great  brave  of  ,Y- 
chiefs  came  after.     M^iiwan  saw  him  strike-  lik< 
battl-  ush,  and  the  »>atchet  w:  • 


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